


Sigh of Relief

by Nayeliq1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And his own, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale knows just how to fix it, Aziraphale too, Building self-esteem, But he pulls himself together and communicates, Considering the Circumstances, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Cuddling, Dealing with lots of stuff, First Kiss, For his demon's sake, Gabriel and Beelz are only mentioned, Getting through dark places together, Hamilton References, Healing, Hopeful Ending, I'm so sorry for doing this to Crowley, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Self-Hatred, Still heed the warnings, Trauma, Trust, at least sort of, but no details, heaven and hell couldn't let it slide after the failed trials, just because, learning to forgive, like feelings, lots of other dark emotions, more or less non-consensual sex, only revisited in flashbacks, resolving conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nayeliq1/pseuds/Nayeliq1
Summary: Crowley had exhibited a quite extraordinary amount of restraint over the years, if he could say so himself. Maybe it had been too much. Maybe something had to snap inside of him at some point, maybe-No. Those were excuses! Nothing but poor, pathetic attempts to justify his own weakness when it had been more crucial than ever to stay strong. It didn't matter that he'd wanted this for thousands of years. It didn't matter that he'd fought against this urge for centuries. It didn't matter that it had been on the verge of overpowering him countless times before. He hadn't let it. He'd never let it. Until now.Everything that should matter was Aziraphale. His angel, his wonderful, pure, perfect angel, his best friend (the object of all his dreams and wishes and desires...), this being that was kindness and innocence made flesh, served to him on a silver plate to devour.This was the moment to withstand. This was the moment to prove himself.And he'd let him down.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 149





	1. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is basically the first fic I've ever written that isn't all fluff and happiness with perhaps a little angst here and there. I never meant to write it, but it just wouldn't leave me, and I just hope it turned out okay.
> 
> I'm sure this trope has been used before, but anyway. Two cakes rule, right?
> 
> And again, please heed the tags and look after yourselves! It's just in flashbacks and the implied rape isn't descriptive, STILL, the feelings afterwards are there and even though I'm sure there are a lot of fics that go much deeper into the darkness of traumata and self-esteem issues that come with it, please, if you feel uncomfortable with these themes in any way, don't read it. You know best what's good for you and health always comes first.
> 
> Okay. That off of my chest...thanks for my two proof-readers! They're always the same people, so they know who I mean. Also apology to one of them (again, she will know) for having a brain that keeps blurting out Good Omens fic instead of what I promised her to write like...half a year ago. I'm sorry. You can't control the words. They find you. Or they don't.

Crowley had imagined this so much it felt more like a memory. Countless sleepless nights, countless waking days, countless restless hours spent in the guilty land of longing and desire. He'd dreamed about this, had painted pictures on the inside of his closed eyelids, whole worlds he kept creating in his mind (and erasing them afterwards. Afterwards. When the shame hit him. The disgust. The emptiness.) All the times, all the ways he had imagined it.

But it had never been like _this_. It had certainly never been anything like this.

For one, they had been alone. They had been free. They had been happy.

They had done it because they _wanted_ to. They both wanted to. His angel had wanted-

This was different.

It was all wrong.

There had been no eyes, in his dreams, no hateful violet eyes watching them. No voices snickering at them in the dark corners of the room. The air hadn't smelled of sulfur and brimstone. The bed hadn't been illuminated as if they were displayed on a stage, their act a show to entertain those watching from the shadows.

Crowley trembled. The cool silk sheets under him felt wrong, despite the familiarity of home (there had been sheets beneath them when it happened too, grey sheets, a mocking fusion of them both, the ridiculous caricature of their union).

He scrambled off the bed, tumbled blindly out of the bedroom (How had he come to be there in the first place? Habit? He felt like he wouldn't be able to as much as look at that room without throwing up ever again.)  
He bumped into something on his way to nowhere, anywhere, he didn't know, didn't care. He heard the clashing of breaking terracotta, felt the stinging pain where his head had hit something solid and registered like a burst of lightning through the mist clouding his brain that he must have knocked over one of the flowerpots that hung from his ceiling. All he could feel after that realisation was the regret that it hadn't knocked him out instead, granting him a headache and a fleeting moment of peace.

There was no peace, of course. Not for him, as he found himself crouched into one of the nearest corners. He wanted to hide, but the dark was no comfort. Still, he didn't move, he didn't dare switch on the lights, couldn't stand the feeling of being seen. He still felt watched. His mind knew there was no one there (no one, no angels, no demons, no Aziraphale, no Aziraphale...), but his body didn't care for reason, didn't listen, didn't stop folding itself together to something small, inconspicuous, invisible.

He wanted to be invisible. He wanted to vanish. He just wanted it to stop.

He wanted it all to stop.

The eyes he could still feel on him, leaving him no place to escape, nowhere to hide.

The smell that wouldn't leave his nostrils, still too familiar even though it had been millennia since he had been allowed to replace the stink with the fresh air of Eden.

The sounds. Oh, the sounds. There was malicious laughter, snickering, encouraging cheers in the back of his mind that made him nauseous with their vileness. But they were just background noises. None of it mattered. None of them mattered. They could all go to hell (or heaven - he wasn't so sure what was worse anymore) and rot there. Despite all the suspicions he'd had, every of his worst ideas that had been confirmed when the world didn't end, he hadn't thought them capable of something like this. Not even Gabriel. He hadn't thought _himself_ capable of something like this.

How could he allow himself to just do what they wanted? Why hadn't he fought back? (He knew the question was ridiculous. He wouldn't have stood a chance against the delegation of archangels and high ranked demons, not even with Aziraphale by his side, but he should have done something...anything...anything but what he _had_ done.) Why had he allowed himself to lose control like that? Why? Why?

He wanted it to stop. He didn't want to hear them anymore. He didn't want to hear _him_ anymore.

He would have slept, usually. Would have drowned himself in unconsciousness for the next decade, century, millennium.

He couldn't. Not this time.

He wouldn't find peace, not even there (nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide). He would have to ask Aziraphale to give him a dreamless rest. But he couldn't. He couldn't. Never again. He wouldn't speak to him, ever again.

Aziraphale.

_Aziraphale._

He saw him, when he closed his eyes. He heard him. Heard the cries, the begs, the tears in his sore voice.

Crowley pressed his hands over his ears, but it didn't help.

_Please._ **_Please_ ** _, don't. Don't do this. Crowley._ **_Crowley_ ** _, please..._

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Aziraphale opened his eyes and blinked into the dazzling white light that greeted him. He needed a moment to process where he was, sat up on unused blue tartan sheets he recognized as his own.

He was in his flat above the bookshop. Not unusual.

In the bed. Bit more unusual.

And everything hurt. Now, _that_ was unusual.

His muscles ached, especially his-

Oh.

 _Oh_.

The memory hit him suddenly. Dirty rooms and greasy floors, corridors bathed in darkness where the flickering neon lights didn't reach, the buzzing of flies in the air, blinking white teeth beneath violet eyes, sparkling at them in amused satisfaction. Aziraphale shivered and quickly looked around, as if he expected to find pairs of eyes still looking at him out of a corner, white and black wings, their owners lined up along the wall. But of course, the room was empty. Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady himself (Even though he didn't need oxygen to keep his vessel alive per se, he'd found over the millennia he'd spent on earth that unnecessary breath was quite useful to calm the furious beating of a likewise unnecessary heart). The air leaving his lungs was unnaturally loud in the silence that lay over the room like a blanket. It should have been comforting that no one was there, shouldn't it? After what he and Crowley-

_Crowley!_

Where was Crowley?

Aziraphale let his hand glide over the cotton fabric of his duvet as if to find the shape of a demonic body underneath, only to shake his head at himself the second his fingers grazed nothing but the obvious cool emptiness of an unoccupied mattress. What a ridiculous notion. Of course Crowley wasn't here. Bold to assume he was even in the bookshop, let alone _here_.

"Crowley?" Oh, heavens, his throat hurt.

Aziraphale listened, waited for a familiar voice to break the pressing sound of silence.

Nothing. As expected. Was it disappointment or relief he felt? Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. No, no, no. He wouldn't allow this to happen. He wouldn't let this cloud his judgement, wouldn't let it influence his feeling. He knew what he felt for Crowley. Crowley was comfort and laughter and warmth and home. Crowley was _love_. He wouldn't let them change that. He wouldn't let them win.

Of course it was disappointment, Aziraphale told himself as he stood up a little too hastily, his knees weaker and legs more wobbly after the sudden motion than he had anticipated. Blimey, his back hurt. As did his back _side_. But no. None of that. No thought about that. Not now. Not ever. He snapped his fingers, thinking the ache away.

 _That doesn't make it undone,_ whispered a nasty voice in his head. He knew that voice. It was the same voice that had told him the war was inevitable, the same voice that told him to lose the gut. Aziraphale told it to shut it, thank you very much.

He hurried down the spiral staircase that led to the backroom of his shop, a new surge of something unpleasant he wasn't quite able to place washing over him, tightening his chest. The couch was empty, apart from the familiar Crowley-butt-shaped dent in the cushion that the demon had left there over centuries of slouching in the same spot.

Panic. The feeling was panic. He'd been remarkably calm when he awoke, but now, with every moment that passed, every second that went by without seeing Crowley, Aziraphale could feel the nearing wave of panic that threatened to drown him in its dark depths. He wanted to see Crowley. He _needed_ to see Crowley.

The flat in Mayfair was the most likely of destinations. Aziraphale lifted his hand, ready to let his fingers snap, too impatient to cross the distance the human way - and hesitated.

Would Crowley want to see him, though?

This dreadful thing had been something that was done to _both_ of them. Gabriel had wanted to use it to tear them apart, to drive a wedge between them. He just hadn't made his calculation with the fact of Aziraphale's undying love and desire for the demon he wanted to scare him away from. No touch from Crowley, however vile and horrible the context, could ever have been undesirable to Aziraphale...

But Crowley. He hadn't thought about Crowley. What if- What if it had been far worse for him? Being forced to be with him in a way he didn't want to?

Aziraphale released a heaving breath as the realisation hit him. He had taken it all too lightly, had reacted too calmly because he hadn't truly been hurt, no matter what he'd wanted their kidnappers so believe. Oh, he'd given them quite a performance, for sure, but it had all been for show. But Crowley...

Aziraphale's eyes began to sting when a picture crystallised out of his memory, Crowley, his face twisted in pain, looking at him wide-eyed after it was all over, staring at him in shock before quickly turning around and fleeing down a corridor. Aziraphale had thought it part of the demon's act by then, part of their attempt to make Gabriel and Beelzebub believe that they had achieved their purpose. But what if- what if it hadn't- what if-

No. He refused to believe that. Not before he'd seen it with his own eyes.

Aziraphale wiped the dampness out of his face with the back of his determined hand. He had to see Crowley. Even if- if any of those dreadful thoughts had a spark of truth to them. He had to find out, had to see if Crowley was alright.

He blinked a few times, settling himself.

Then he snapped.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

He knew he was a vile creature. He was depraved by nature, doomed to serve the purpose of lust and sin.

So no, Crowley certainly wasn't a stranger to those feelings. Hunger, desire, want. He had been designed to inflame them. This body he'd been given, temptation incarnate. Yet, he'd only ever experienced them himself for one other being, one single creature, the one and only he could never have. (He'd been asking himself before if maybe this was his real punishment. The dread of belonging nowhere, too immortal for humanity, too caring for Hell, too doubtful for Heaven, too spoiled for Aziraphale. The torture of unrequited love, wherever he went.)

He was no stranger to longing, either. He'd been pining for so long he could have filled a whole damn forest! Millennia of waiting, wanting, loving from afar (for that was just what it _was_ , he knew it, denying had just seemed ridiculous at some point), worshipping the only heavenly creature he'd ever believed to deserve such devotion. He'd controlled himself, had held it all back, locked the emotion up in a box, sealed it with as many chains as his willpower could muster. It was for his own sake as much as for Aziraphale's, for what else could he have done? Rip his heart out of his chest, kneel in front of the angel, presenting it to him - scarred, bleeding thing that it was? Wait for Aziraphale to heal it or destroy it for good?

That was what it would have come down to, sooner or later (rather sooner than later, obviously), and he had exhibited a quite extraordinary amount of restraint over the years, if Crowley could say so himself. Maybe it had been too much. Maybe something had to snap inside of him at some point, maybe-

No! Those were excuses! Nothing but poor, pathetic attempts to justify his own weakness when it had been more crucial than ever to stay strong. It didn't matter that he'd wanted this for thousands of years. It didn't matter that he'd fought against this urge for centuries. It didn't matter that it had been on the verge of overpowering him countless times before. He hadn't let it. He'd never let it. Until now.

Everything that should matter was Aziraphale. His angel, his wonderful, pure, perfect angel, his best friend (the object of all his dreams and wishes and desires...), this being that was kindness and innocence made flesh, served to him on a silver plate to devour.

This was the moment to withstand. This was the moment to prove himself.

And he'd let him down. He'd given into his desires and had hurt his angel in turn. Unforgivable. (He'd always been unforgivable, his whole nature was threaded together in way to make his very fibres spell out Damnation, Unworthiness, Depravity - but this, this was too much. He didn't _want_ Aziraphale to forgive him. He would never forgive himself.)

The tears, the begging, the whimpers.

He hadn't stopped. He couldn't have stopped. (They wouldn't have let him. His treacherous body wouldn't have let him.)

 _You're gonna take him_ , Gabriel had said, mouth twisted in a cruel grin. _You're not allowed to stop until it's...finished. I'm sure you get it, great original tempter and everything._ His eyes sparkled in satisfaction at Crowley's devastated expression.

They had known how to do it. They had thought it through. They had known how to drag them out in the light, how to strike, where to hit. They had known nothing they could have done to Crowley would have been as horrible for the demon as forcing him to be the one that did it to Aziraphale.

_Crowley. Crowley, please._

He couldn't escape the angel's voice, sitting there in the dark corner of his flat. Would he ever be able to forget the sounds he'd made? Would he ever find sleep again? Peace? Silence?

_Don't. Crowley. Don't listen to them. Please. I'm begging you._

_I'm sorry, angel._ (Was it a memory? Or had he said it out loud to the surrounding nowhere and nothing?)

_Don't! Stop. Please._ **_Please_ ** _, stop._

Sobs. Tears. The disgusting sound of sweat-slicked skin against skin. Voices in the background, muffled as his brain tried to cut them off, forget where he was, what he was doing.

Don't close your eyes. You're gonna see them when you close your eyes, gonna see him. Writhing beneath you, struggling to get away, pinned in place by your own hands.

 _I'm so sorry, angel. Aziraphale. Forgive me._ (Don't. You shouldn't. I don't deserve it.)

It had been fast. He'd tried to make it quick, don't torture his angel longer than necessary (don't torture himself). Gabriel had instructed him to be rough. (Could he have been anything but? Once his carefully preserved self-control was shattered? Yes. He wanted to tell himself that he could. Always. For Aziraphale. He could, he could, he _would_ have been. Gentle. Caring. Loving. All the nice and un-demonic things he had imagined in his dreams. Had the circumstances been different. He had to believe it. He wouldn't survive the alternative.)

Aziraphale had been lying there, afterwards. Just lying there, sullied like the grey sheets. How could Crowley ever look at his face again? (How could he not? How was he supposed to outlive eternity without gentle hands, soft smiles, blue eyes and kind words? Without old-fashioned well-worn waistcoats and useless ridiculous reading glasses and bookshops and dinners? Without the smell of dusty books, printed pages and cocoa? Without warmth and kindness and home?)

It was all gone. He'd lost everything, everything that mattered.

_Angel. Angel, I- I'm so sorry. I'm- I'm sorry. Please... Angel? Aziraphale?_

He'd reached out to- what? Soothe? Comfort? See if the angel was ok? (Of course he was not! He'd practically been raped. By the one being he thought to be his friend. Of course he was not ok. Of course he was not.)

He should have expected his touch wouldn't be welcome. He should have _known_. (Had it ever been, though? They'd never really touched before. A fleeting brush of fingers when they handed each other a bottle of wine. Their shoulders touching lightly when they sat on the bus after Tadfield. Quick kisses on the cheek when it was still a custom of greeting, Crowley's face tingling for decades afterwards...)

Still, it was a shock when Aziraphale flinched away from his hand, making his heart clench painfully in his chest. The terror in the angel's voice had been even worse. The difference between a sharp pointed knife and a blunt one, the sting slow, blade rusty, leaving a wound with frayed edges.

_DON'T TOUCH ME!_

Crowley's hand had stilled immediately, hanging in mid-air, a moment of silence before the storm, the quiet in the eye of the hurricane. There was more snickering in the background, to be sure, but he didn't hear any of it. He didn't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears, the silence as his own heartbeat stopped for a moment.

And then the moment was over. His hand snapped back and he clutched it protectively against his chest, felt his vision go blurry as tears began to sting in his eyes, hot and unwanted. He wouldn't let them see. Not Aziraphale and certainly not them. They wouldn't get the satisfaction to witness the demon Crowley breaking at last. Aziraphale wouldn't have to be the one picking him up and putting the pieces back together. Not again. Not anymore.

The last thing he remembered was the rustle of his wings when he swirled around (Wings? When had he manifested his wings?), his head twirling from the sudden turn, (the exhaustion, the sorrow, the pain, the shame, everything), how he tried to flee down one of the corridors, cursing the tears that began to crawl mercilessly down his cheeks.

Something hit him from behind. He fell. Fell... (He had fallen before, hadn't he? Fallen from Grace, fallen in love, he just couldn't seem to stop falling, could he?)

All the rest was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts would be appreciated:)


	2. Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided I'm gonna need four chapters. It just keeps growing. You know how it is.
> 
> As always, comments are what holds the writer's sanity together.

Aziraphale had miracled himself in front of Crowley's doorstep. He'd checked beforehand that no one would see him arriving, but hadn't thought it appropriate to just appear in his flat, uninvited, intrusive. A strange thought, perhaps, after everything... (But Aziraphale was still the epitome of the polite and proper Englishman, after all. Well. A currently man-shaped being living in England, most of the time, at the very least.)

Aziraphale shook his head, chased the thoughts away. There were more important matters to tend to now. Crowley, for one. _Concentrate._

He knocked. Waited. No answer.

He knocked again, twice, louder this time. Waited. Nothing.

"Crowley?", he called through the closed door and regretted it the next second. In case the demon really didn't want to see him, he definitely wouldn't answer the door now. (But then, what did it matter, really? It was not as if many visitors tended to knock on Crowley's door that weren't bookshop-owning angels, anyway.)

Aziraphale sighed. Seemed like he would have to _intrude_ , after all. (And it wasn't actually burglary, now, was it? No, obviously not. They were...friends. Crowley wouldn't mind him in his flat. On any usual day...)   
And it was for Crowley's own good. ( _I don't think you can do the wrong thing_ , he heard his voice, saw the smirk, the sparkle in his golden eyes. Would he ever get to see those eyes directed at him with such warmth again?)

So Aziraphale asked the door to open. The lock didn't think about protesting and snapped with a satisfyingly obliging click, opening the way to whatever scene the angel was going to find behind its silent barrier.

He carefully pushed against the dark wood, revealing...darkness. Darkness and silence.

"Crowley?" Still, nothing. Was the demon even home? But if he wasn't here, where should he be? He hadn't been at the shop. He had to be here, everything else made no sense, he had to be, he _had_ to. A picture flashed in front of Aziraphale's eyes, Crowley, still in Hell, held there by chains or something even worse... He shuddered. No. They wouldn't have kept him there. They wouldn't. And yet...when they thought Aziraphale had been chased away for good at last and wouldn't be looking for him anymore... The thought alone was too dreadful to even bring to an end.

"Crowley!?" There was the panic again, creeping its way up his body to swallow him. Aziraphale trembled when he rushed into the flat, slamming the door after him in a sudden and irresistible urge to look, search, see, find. _Find_. He had to find him.

"Crowley, are you there?" _Please be there, please be there, please..._

The dim light from the window revealed the living room to be as empty as the horrible void in Aziraphale's stomach. The kitchen, just as deserted.

He rounded a corner, rushed deeper into the flat than he'd ever been before and stopped dead in his tracks the next second.

"Crowley..."

A flicker of red in the blackness, a sparkle of gold through the vail of Aziraphale's fear.

Relief washed over him, almost swiping him off his feet with its intensity.   
_He's here. He's alive. He's fine._   
Aziraphale released a shuddering breath and had to support himself with a hand against the wall of the corridor for a second. _Thank you. I don't care who's listening, just...thank you._  
But the overwhelming (nearly nauseating) feeling subsided as quickly as it had come, was replaced by the now familiar tightening in his chest when he took the demon's posture in.

"Oh, my dear", he said, and the sound of his voice was like a knife in Crowley's heart. He flinched almost invisibly, unsure if it was his mind playing a trick on him. But no, he could feel the angel's familiar presence, felt the sorrow and pain in his aura.   
_I caused that. All my fault..._

"What are you doing here?", he croaked out, unable to form any other even reasonably coherent thought.

"Looking if you're alright", Aziraphale said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world (which it was, wasn't it? It definitely should have been...).   
"And I'm glad I did because you're obviously not", he continued sympathetically, slowly lowering himself to his knees to be on eye-level with the demon. Crowley could do nothing but stare, big, frightful eyes following the angel's movements, and without realizing it, his own body pressed itself further into the dark of the corner. (How positively fucking awful to have your subconscious prefer a cold, hard wall over a warm, soft angel.)

"Oh, I'm so sorry my dear", Aziraphale whispered and out of the corner of his eye, for the shortest of seconds, Crowley thought to notice the angel's hand twitching, as if he were contemplating if to reach out and touch. The demon scolded himself for that thought. Absurd. He must have imagined it. His own, stupid, self-sabotaging, wishful thinking, obviously.

"You- _You_ are sorry? That's-" _That's ridiculous. That's wrong. That's my line._  
"Why are you even here", he couldn't help saying again. His brain didn't work, didn't process, didn't understand. "You shouldn't be here, you- You shouldn't-"

"Do you want me to go?", Aziraphale asked softly, yet unable to hide the hurt in his voice.  
"Crowley? If you tell me to go, I will", he said sincerely (and even though he knew it was wrong, everything in Crowley instinctively screamed _no, don't, don't ever, don't leave me_ ).   
"But I'd really rather not", the angel continued with a furrowed brow, bathing the demon in relief without even knowing, "dear boy, I don't think you should be alone right now."

What in all of Heaven and Hell and everywhere in between was happening? It should be the other way around. Everything was the wrong way around. Aziraphale trying to soothe him, Aziraphale _here_ in the first place, Crowley flinching away from him, yet internally screaming, pleading for his presence, his contact, _him_.

"Crowley...can I-? Can I take your hand, dear?"

_What?_

This was wrong. _He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't want to touch me._

Before he had really understood the question, Crowley found himself nodding, helplessly yearning for any sort of comfort, anything that Aziraphale was willing to give even though he shouldn't, even though it could be over in the blink of an eye. The angel would remember, would push him away, those gentle eyes filling with disgust. It was only a matter of time, moments, seconds...

But nothing of the sort happened. Aziraphale smiled at him and it nearly made Crowley sob. A soft hand reached for his, a strong, tender arm came to circle around his shoulders. Steadying him. _Protecting_ him _._

"Come." Aziraphale helped him stand up on weak legs that didn't seem to carry his body weight, he tipped over to his side, caught himself by leaning against the angel's solid yet soft frame. Fear rushed through him when he realised what he was doing, expecting the angel to shy away from him, but once again, nothing.

"Come with me, my dear", Aziraphale said softly, not even flinching even though he practically had to carry the demon as he set one unsteady foot in front of the other, obliging without a second thought.   
"Yes, that's it." Aziraphale led him through the corridor, passed the open bedroom door (Crowley squeezed his eyes shut to avoid a look inside) and into the living room.   
"Very good." _Praise. Kindness. Why. He shouldn't. Not for me._  
"Come. Sit down on the couch for me, will you?" He helped him find a steady position on the stylish but uncomfortable monstrosity of black leather (still better than cowering in a corner on the floor, though), gracing the demon with a pleased smile once more.   
"Wonderful. That's better, isn't it?" _Too kind. Too gentle. Too caring._

"Shouldn't we make a bit of light?"

"No!" The sudden outburst caught angel as well as demon by surprise, a shout echoing in the very sudden silence that followed. It had made Aziraphale stop on his way to the light switch halfway through the room where he turned around with questioning eyes, concern written all over his beautiful face.   
"I-I'm sorry", Crowley said quietly, startled by his own reaction, and bit his lip in embarrassment. "I- Just...please don't. I-..." He trailed off, cursed his own voice for sounding so weak, so _pleading_.

"Alright." Aziraphale nodded soothingly, came back towards him (how was he _still_ coming back to him??) and sat down on the couch by his side, too far away to touch, yet close enough to feel his calming angelic presence spread around him like a warm blanket. "It's okay."

Crowley pressed his lips together in a thin line. He really needed to get his shit together. Aziraphale was here. He was _here_. He was back. And who knew for how long. Maybe this was his last chance to try and set things right, his last chance to apologise, his last chance to beg for forgiveness _(Don't ask that of him, you shouldn't ask that of him, you know you shouldn't. He's going to give it if you ask, and you shouldn't, **he** shouldn't_).  
If this was it, the last time before they would never see each other again...he could just say it, get it over with. What did it matter? The last chance to tell him... _(You shouldn't do that either. It wouldn't be fair towards him. He doesn't deserve to carry your burden just to make it easier for you, coward!)_

"Crowley..." Aziraphale's voice ripped him out of his thoughts and he blinked slowly as the angel's face came back into focus, scrutinizing him. (Was that mask of concern a permanent resident on those angelic features now? Would it be the last thing he saw of him? Or would Crowley manage to turn it into shock and repulsion if he just tried hard enough?)  
"Dear-"

"Don't call me that."

 _"Dear"_ , he repeated, willingly ignoring the demon. "Will you look at me? Please?" 

Of course he looked. He had never been able to deny Aziraphale anything he asked. He wouldn't start now.

"Crowley, I'm so so sorry that what happened affected you like this." All that misguided kindness and damned _sympathy_. Crowley couldn't stand it. "I should have been aware, I-"

"Don't say that", the demon practically growled, pressing the words out between clenched teeth. "Don't you _dare_ apologise. _I'm_ the one that should be sorry, I'm-"

"Crowley. Stop." 

A simple word. Insistent but gentle. And Crowley felt his grasp on the present slip away.

His eyes watered as a new wave of memories washed over him, sudden, forceful, drowning. He instinctively closed his eyes, but the visual lack just increased the intensity of acoustic perception as it seemed, his head swimming, ears buzzing with the echos of that word, that voice.

_Crowley. Stop. Stop! Please, don't do this!_

What had happened? Between then and now? 

He couldn't wrap his mind around an explanation, an explanation for Aziraphale in his flat, Aziraphale reaching for him, Aziraphale taking his hands, squeezing...

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that", Aziraphale hurried to say, eyes wide in horror when he understood what his unfortunate choice of words had caused.   
"Crowley. Crowley, look at me. Concentrate on my voice." It sounded muffled, distorted, as if Crowley's head were under water. "Do you feel my hands?", asked the other Aziraphale (the one that wasn't crying and shouting in his head).   
"Come back to me, dear." There was panic, in his voice. He obviously tried to hide it, but Crowley knew him too well, had studied the angel's every twitch of muscle, every change in tone. It was strangely soothing, knowing that he wasn't the only one losing control, just this once. Crowley could feel the waters of memory seeping away, his head breaking through the surface, and he opened his eyes, pupils dilated in the dark.   
"There." Aziraphale released a breath (a sigh of relief?) and managed a little smile. "That's good." His thumb stroked over the back of Crowley's hand, light as a feather, and the demon shivered slightly. "Now, please, just listen. Can you do that for me?"

Crowley nodded, focused. He would concentrate. He could do that. Aziraphale had asked him to.

"I'm so sorry", the angel said once more (He just couldn't keep himself from apologising, could he? Stupid angelic nature). "I tried to show you. I tried to give you signs, but I couldn't make it too obvious. I tried to squeeze your hand before it started, tried to give you reassuring looks. Didn't you notice?"

Crowley didn't understand a word he was saying. He heard the words, yes. His ears worked well enough. They just didn't make any sense once they arrived in his brain. What was he even talking about? Couldn't make it too obvious? Signs? What??

"I-", he squeezed his eyes shut, tried to concentrate, to remember, but his mind seemed to have put up a barrier, refusing to open the drawer far, far back in his head that was inscribed with DON'T TOUCH. (He'd never understood the thing with the Tree. Maybe he did now. Not every knowledge was a gift. Some could be a burden.)  
"I'm not sure. It's all...blurry."

"It's okay", Aziraphale assured him gently, eager to prevent the demon from stressing before he had even started (oh, for fuck's sake - did he have to handle him with such kid gloves?? Yeah... Yeah, he probably did). "I wished you had understood what I wanted to tell you. _It was alright,_ Crowley", he said slowly, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, letting their meaning seep into the demon's ears, mind, _veins_. "It was okay. I knew you didn't want to do it, I knew you didn't want to hurt me, my dear. And you didn't", he insisted. "Believe me, you truly didn't. I just had to make them believe otherwise. Do you understand?"

Crowley didn't know. What was understanding, anyway?

"All the things I said, it was all for _them,_ Crowley. It was all for show. I didn't mean any of it, dearest."

 _Dearest_. (Was this what it felt like to have a stroke?)

"You- " Crowley swallowed. His throat felt dry, sore. He didn't care. Cogwheels were beginning to click into place somewhere between the loose muddled strings holding his sanity together.  
"Wait. What? You didn't-?"

"Of course not, my dear. It pains me that you had to go through this believing I was in any kind of agony. I truly wasn't." Could he mean it? His voice, his face, the sympathetic look in his eyes - everything told Crowley that he spoke the truth. And he wanted to believe him. Against all his better judgement, he wanted to believe him so badly.

"I admit, you had to be a bit...well, rough", Aziraphale continued, blushing. Had always been a habit of his, adorable bastard. Angels tended to have their blood circulation under better control. Usually. "But I'm not made of glass, dear. I don't break that easily."

There was a smile in the corner of his mouth. An actual smile. Could it be? ( _No, no, no!_ , warned his mind, _Yes, please, yes_ , answered his foolish heart.)

"I-I thought- Angel..."

"I know. Shush. I know..." Aziraphale reached forward to brush a lost strand of sticky hair out of his face. Somehow, that small gesture felt more intimate than anything that had happened. They didn't do such things. Not them. Because...well, they didn't do such things.

"Don't blame yourself for anything, dearest. I don't." (There it was again. The name. Crowley had to remind himself how to breathe.) "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault, nor was it mine. We both know who's responsible." Even in the dimly lit room with nothing but the rays of moonlight falling through the window, Crowley could see how the angel's face darkened.   
"They wanted to tear us apart, my dear. Gabriel thought I was weak, he thought it would break me to have you...well", he trailed off, and for the first time since the conversation had started, Crowley spotted insecurity on his face, his eyes averted to lower on his nervously fidgeting hands. "T-Take my virginity is what he anticipated, I guess", the angel said then, biting his bottom lip. (Anxious? Nervous? Embarrassed? He shouldn't feel any of those things. None of it was his fault. It was Gabriel's. It was Crowley's. It was-)

Then Aziraphale's gaze returned to the demon's face (he could practically watch the determination returning in those blue eyes, fascinating, captivating him) and the angel took a deep breath, steadying himself, nerves vanishing as quickly as they had arrived.

"But we won't let them succeed, will we?", Aziraphale whispered as if not to frighten the demon (like a deer in the headlights...) "Don't leave me, Crowley. Don't let them win."

 _I don't want to,_ he thought. _It's that **you** won't want me. If I tell you the truth, you won't want me to stay_.

"But you-" He knew his voice was dissolving into that pathetic whimper again. He hated it. He couldn't do anything to stop it. "You don't understand. It wasn't just that, I-"

He couldn't say it. He had to say it. He couldn't let Aziraphale go on without knowing. He couldn't tell him. Aziraphale would leave him. He couldn't remain silent. He had to-

"It's alright, my dear", the angel's soft voice broke through his fighting thoughts. "I understand. I do-"

It was too much. He couldn't let Aziraphale live a lie. He wouldn't do that to him. He _wouldn't._

"No, Angel. You _don't_ understand." Rage was bubbling up in his chest, he could feel it emitting sparks, burst into flames, flaring up. Good. It would engulf all this fucking pitiful stuttering and sobbing. It would drive him to do what had to be done.

"I-" _Just say it, you coward! Tell him. He deserves to know. You deserve his revulsion._

"I _enjoyed_ it, okay?", he finally burst out, feeling a growing fit of hysteria somewhere deep down in his belly. (He'd never felt that before. Demons didn't get hysterical. Not ever. Well, fuck it.)  
"Isn't that horrible?", he almost laughed, and didn't find it in himself to care. "They forced me on you, _I forced myself on you_ and still, I- I couldn't help myself. It was all wrong, nothing like I wanted it to be, but it was still you, angel. The _feeling_ -" He was rambling. He couldn't think about the words before they left his mouth. He couldn't order his incoherent thoughts and emotions.

"And I had wanted- I...I wanted- Have you any idea how long I-" Crowley broke off, caught himself just before he could blurt out his best-guarded secret, reveal what he would never be able to take back again. He panted. It was all too much. Too many thoughts, too many feeling, too many memories, _too_ _many_. He couldn't do this. Couldn't handle it all. Not anymore. He was so tired. He was just so damn tired.

"But it doesn't matter, does it?", he smiled exhaustedly, running a hand over his face, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes. "It's all meaningless. I can't stand that I allowed myself to forget- to forget about you, forget that you didn't- didn't want-..." He trailed off, let his hand sink down, join the other in his lap. (Aziraphale's hands were gone. When had he let go? When had he withdrawn them from Crowley's touch? What did it matter. He shouldn't be surprised. He wasn't.)

"But it felt _good_ , angel." (He couldn't bring himself to look at Aziraphale. He couldn't live with horror being the last thing he ever saw on that beloved face.) "It felt good, _you_..." Crowley sighed. That was it, then. It was all over. At least he hadn't lied. He'd never lied to Aziraphale. Not to him. Not once. (That was something to take pride in, wasn't it...)

"I can't even think about it without wanting to punish myself for doing that to you", he couldn't help but say, aware that it didn't change a thing, didn't make up for anything. "Feeling even the smallest spark of pleasure in the face of your distress, angel, that's something I can't forgive myself. Can't." Crowley couldn't withstand the urge to throw a glance at the angel's face. His eyes flit upwards, a fleeting second of blue eyes and platinum curls. Enough to let his heart ache, not enough to read anything in his features.

"And you, you shouldn't either", he heard himself say. "Hate me. Please." He was asking it. Begging, even. (Demons didn't beg. Not for forgiveness, anyway.)

"I deserve it. I'm sure you must be disgusted with me. It's fine." It was. Truthful, always. He never lied to Aziraphale. "I disgust myself."

Silence spread in the room after that declaration, not even the ticking of a clock. (That was because Crowley didn't own one. None that weren't digital, anyway. Not as if time were of any real importance to immortal beings, after all. He really only had them to be punctual for dinners with a certain angel. That was also the only occasion on which they displayed the correct time zone - not that Crowley had ever noticed. Or cared.)

The demon could hear his heartbeat, though. It seemed to grow louder with each passing second (quite impudent for a totally unnecessary organ, if you thought about it), pounding in his ears, reminding him of the moment's length, the period of time Aziraphale had been sitting there without a word. Perhaps he was gone. Miracled himself away. Crowley wouldn't have known. He still couldn't look up.

He could just sit there and wait. Sit in this unbearable silence and listen. (He didn't think his heart had any business to be still beating at all. Broken things shouldn't keep on living. Broken hearts shouldn't keep their owners alive. It would have been a mercy if they didn't. Maybe it would stop eventually. Maybe it would stop once it got that Aziraphale was gone. Every engine needed its fuel, after all.)

Maybe it was best, Aziraphale gone already. Maybe _that_ was his mercy. No eyes he would have to see, no words he would have to hear, no goodbye he would have to stand. He almost hoped the angel had left. Almost. (He could never _actually_ hope so. He could never wish Aziraphale away. Never, never.)

The silence had lasted merely thirty seconds. For Crowley and his rushing thoughts, stupidly pumping heart and shattered soul, it felt like thirty aeons. (No wonder Aziraphale didn't want him, had never wanted him, not even before all this. He was a mess. He'd always been a ridiculous, utter mess. He'd just had the will and strength to cover it up, before. Not anymore. Never again...)

Then, a sound. A sigh. Not Crowley's. Aziraphale's.

He was still there, then. Okay. (He couldn't find it in himself to form a more specific reaction.) The rustling of fabric. The angel moved.

And suddenly, warm hands were covering his again, and Crowley's attempt at thoughts short-circuited completely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the ending. But I wanted to update...


	3. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you'll find it unrealistic how fast this develops, but I couldn't help myself. Blame my chronic fluff-obsession.  
> I definitely could have let them go a much longer way, but then, this is still fanfic, right?  
> Hope you also enjoy the path I decided to take (or rather the path that decided to be taken by me, that is.)

After they had averted Armageddon (not that they had really done that much, but however), the future had seemed full of possibilities. Countless paths lying ahead of them, free of obstacles, waiting to be walked upon. They just had to choose.

 _They_. Because Crowley had been certain about one thing only. Whatever there was to come, they would be facing it together.

It had always just been a question of how. He'd never thought it would be a question of whether.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

He had seen dark before, but not like this. Cold, empty, numb. For thirty seconds, the life he knew had been over, the lights out, all warmth snatched away.   
_Hello, darkness. I'm ready to succumb._  
Truth was, there was nothing for him to do without Aziraphale. No steps to go, no breaths to take, no life to live. (Why rising from the ground at all when it wasn't him he was rising for?) The angel was his north, his evening star. He'd followed him around, orbiting him like a planet around its sun. Now, he'd gone to a place where Crowley couldn't follow (lights out, all warmth snatched away). Grief, it turned out, had a gravity. It was pulling him down, deeper, further, away...

Then, a spark. A blinking light. He felt himself walk through the blackness, drawn towards it, stumbling blindly in its direction. (Could there be a day beyond this night?)

Hands were guiding him. He knew them. No other hands had ever touched him like that. Soft and steady and gentle.

"Oh, Crowley." There were tears in this beloved voice. Crowley had to look up. Finally. Finally.

The room lay in semi-darkness, yet, the angel's face was the brightest thing he'd ever seen.

"I was in no distress, no agony", said Aziraphale, watery eyes meeting huge yellow orbs without a second's hesitation. "Please, believe me. I _couldn't_ have been, no matter the circumstances. _Not with you."_

He looked so desperate, blinking back tears, clutching at Crowley's hand as if he could force him to accept the truth that way.

"The mere thought that I could hate you is utterly ridiculous", he continued, squeezing more tightly with every sentence.

"Be disgusted?" His face contorted, as if saying the words had him in physical pain. "Oh Crowley, how can you even think such a thing? Never... I thought-..." He let go of the stunned demon, wiping his eyes instead, collecting himself.

"I was afraid you'd be the one that was disgusted with me", Aziraphale finally admitted with a sigh, eyes flitting between Crowley's face and his feet. It was enough to snap the demon back to his senses, his brow furrowing in surprised disbelief.

"W-What?"

"Well, I..I through..as your reaction was so much more... _vivid_ than mine-" Aziraphale bit his lip, throwing an apologetic glance at Crowley, his thumbs worrying at the hem of his waistcoat. "That you might have been the one that was, you know..." The angel shrugged his shoulders. "Repulsed."

 _Excuse me, what the-? How completely, totally, utterly_ _**stupid** _ _, what in all of heaven and hell-_

"Angel-"

"It would have been bold of me to presume that you'd ever have wanted to do that", Aziraphale quickly cut him off, the words leaving his mouth in a rush as he tried to compensate his embarrassment with (absolutely ridiculously unnecessary) justifications. "U-Under any other circumstances, that is. Wouldn't it?" His voice was pitched slightly higher than usually and his eyes kept returning to his lap as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other - the complete picture of insecurity all of a sudden.

"So I-...well, I-I guess you could say I had to make the best of it in that moment...? I mean, don't misunderstand me", the angel blushed furiously (adorably), "the...ah, the _setting_ was nothing as I'd imagined it to be, but-...a-and I'm sure I could have enjoyed it much more had I not been obliged to concentrate on pretending otherwise..." He let the sentence hang in the air, mouth open as if he were planning to continue, but no more words came. Finally, the angel pressed his lips together, his lowered head doing nothing in order to hide his reddened cheeks.

And Crowley...stared. Quite speechless. Nothing new, then. (Not _today_ , at least.)

"I'm not sure I get a word you're saying", he finally confessed (sounding like the overwhelmed idiot that he was). "Yeah, I...ngk, I'm quite sure I don't actually, because it can't-"

"I rather believe you do", Aziraphale interrupted, head snapping back up.   
"Well, I-" The angel drew a hand over his face in an attempt to gather himself (quite in vain, that was, but wasn't it the effort that counted? No, it bloody well wasn't. Why was that even a saying??) "It...oh, blimey, it... _came to an end_ , didn't it?", he finally forced out, looking as if he wished a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him.

Fuck, the angel couldn't be implying what he thought he was. He couldn't actually-

"I-I thought...that perhaps you miracled-"

"Oh no, dear." Aziraphale shook his head with an uncomfortable smile. "There was no need."

"But-" He searched for words, found none. "How...?"

"Oh, really, Crowley." The sigh that left the angel's lungs was something between exhaustion and fondness. "It's rather obvious now, isn't it?"

Well, it bloody well wasn't! Not in the slightest! In fact, Crowley was quite sure there had never been anything less obvious in the whole of fucking human history. (And Crowley, aka not-so-secret master of obviousness, knew what he was talking about.) That an angel getting imprisoned in the Bastille for the sake of crepes was intolerably idiotic - that was obvious. That an angel who got betrayed by his not-actually allies was way too gullible to be left to his own devices - that was obvious. That an angel who had been frequently seeking a demon's company for millennia telling said demon he didn't even like him was lying - that was obvious. That an angel who was Aziraphale was the most impossibly wonderful creature in all of God's creation - that was obvious. That an angel who got kidnapped and forced to endure rape by the hands of his best friend told said friend he didn't mind and expected to be understood - that was not _rather-fucking-obvious!_

Oh, fuck. _Damn_ , he'd lost the thread. Aziraphale was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response Crowley didn't have. The demon could do nothing but stare back, hopelessly muddled emotion visible through the window of his eyes. (And Aziraphale saw. Aziraphale _knew_.) He blinked in understanding, sighing fondly.

"No touch from you could ever not be wanted to me, my dear", the angel then explained with his soft voice, as if it were a commonly acknowledged truth. "Not even then. My only concern in that moment was that you could feel otherwise. And if I would be able to put on a show that would convince them of my own suffering."

There was a little smile in the corner of his mouth, still hesitant, insecure, but carrying a flicker of hope that made Crowley's throat go desert-dry.

"You...", he swallowed hard, "were very convincing, angel, I can assure you."

"A bit too much, as it seems", Aziraphale shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry I couldn't make you see sooner, dearest. Spare you all this."

"Not your fault", Crowley mumbled almost absentmindedly, far too occupied with processing what this unreasonably hopeful traitor that was his heart tried to make his stubborn head believe. Aziraphale had lied to him before. But he wouldn't lie about something like this. Not this. He wouldn't. (He _couldn't_. Crowley was aware of that, deep in a remaining sensibly-thinking corner of his mind. If Gabriel had succeeded, Aziraphale wouldn't try to make him believe otherwise. He wouldn't have had a reason to. He wouldn't have _wanted_ to.)

So, slowly but steadily, the realisation settled in, seeping in his bones, warming his body.

Aziraphale was serious. Aziraphale told the truth. Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale was with him. Aziraphale would _stay_.

"And I really didn't-" His mouth betrayed him once more, spilling out the remaining anxiety he was fighting back down from where it had emerged. "I really didn't hurt you?"

"No, darling." That soft smile. Crowley loved that soft smile. (Only ever directed at him, that was. He liked to claim that this particular one was _his_ smile.) "The only thing that could hurt me would be if they had succeeded. I couldn't bear being without you", Aziraphale confessed, such sincerity shining from those angelic eyes that it drove tears to the demon's own.

"I thought I would be", Crowley heard himself whisper without having intended to. "After. I thought you wouldn't want to see me, that I couldn't dare appear under your eyes again."

He noticed Aziraphale's fingers twitch, hesitating for just a second, but then his hand reached for Crowley, its warm touch making the demon's skin tickle where his thumb brushed over the corner of his eye, careful but determined.

"That's over now. You'll never have reason to think that again, I promise."

Crowley's first instinct when the angel's hand neared his face had been to flinch away - damn his bloody messed-up unconscience. But it was easier to control now, possible to ignore. 

His second instinct as soon as he actually felt it was to lean into the touch. Not as strong a reaction as he was used to from himself when it came to Aziraphale and physical contact, but a relief nevertheless. He could work with that. (If Aziraphale wanted that kind of...relationship, that was.)

His third instinct was to lift his own hand to put it over the angel's, hold it in place. He wanted to. Only, his muscles wouldn't move. He growled internally at his own treacherous body, achieving about as much as absolutely fucking nothing. Aziraphale withdrew, and Crowley could do nothing but follow his hand with his eyes as it returned to the angel's lap, helpless. (He hated feeling helpless. Demons weren't helpless. They were the ones that made others feel the unpleasantness -or pleasure, depending on the circumstances- of lost control. He didn't like it in the least. Felt like being a prisoner in his own damn vessel, forcing emotions up he didn't want to feel, refusing to move the way he told it to, denying him to enjoy what he had longed for during the better part of six-fucking-thousand years, now that it was finally within reach.)

"I was so sure...", Aziraphale mumbled, dragging Crowley out of his thoughts, "so sure you'd know. I'm still wondering how you didn't. How you didn't _feel_ it. I was almost certain you must have known for centuries..."

Crowley blinked, searching the thread he seemed to have lost.

"Known what?"

"Well..." Aziraphale threw a glance down at his hands, rubbing the edges of his waistcoat again, but when he looked back up, there was a shy smile on his lips. "Demons can feel lust, don't they?"

Oh... _Oh_.

"Y-Yeah..." Fuck, he'd heard correctly, hadn't he? This was happening. He felt like a piece of shit, his world had been crumbling to dust around him mere hours ago, but apparently he was the luckiest bastard in all of creation. Aziraphale wanted- _Wait_.

"Wait", he said out loud. "Did you just say centuries?"

"You really couldn't feel it?", Aziraphale enquired again, ignoring the question, not waiting for an answer. "Interesting." His brow furrowed pensively and he bit his lip (quite endearingly) in concentration.  
"Perhaps it's because it's not really _that"_ , he said after a while, nodding to himself. "Lust", he added at Crowley's questioning expression. _"Sinful_ lust, I mean. Lasciviousness." He seemed to think this explained it. Crowley didn't feel that way.

"Yes, I guess that must be why", Aziraphale continued nevertheless, apparently unaware that the demon struggled to follow. "You couldn't feel it because it's just another expression of my love!" He beamed at Crowley, face lit up about his own revelation, smiling carefree as if he had not just stopped Crowley's heartbeat with his words.

Once again, Crowley stared. He seemed to be doing that quite a lot these days. (Nasty demonstration of incompetence. Couldn't let that become a habit. Had to look like a complete pathetic idiot - not that he wasn't, it just didn't need to show off.)

Aziraphale looked back, practically glowing with whatever it was that made angels so insufferably fucking gorgeous (not helpful at the moment, by the way), eyebrows raised expectantly.

Expecting... What was he expecting? Well, a reaction, quite probably. Any kind of reaction, at last, if not the right one. Well. Too bad Crowley couldn't be of service with that particular thing right now. Reactions required the usage of brain cells. Which, as it happened, were quite rare at the moment. Functional ones, anyway. Ones that hadn't just decided to quit their job as soon as the dangerous L-word left the angel's lips.

A few moments of nothing happening went by, during which Aziraphale's expression slowly transformed, expectation melting away to (Crowley almost awaited annoyance, hurt, sadness perhaps, but no)... Disbelief. And underneath, a flicker of _amusement_ , of all things.

"Don't look so shocked, dear", Aziraphale said as scoldingly as he was physically able to muster (which was about the verbal equivalent of a fond eye-roll). "You really must have known by now."

 _Must have... Yeah. Sure. Known. Okay. Whatever you say, angel_. _Mhm_.

"How did you put it so very appropriately?", Aziraphale went on, a sparkle in his eyes. "How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?"

 _Yup. Stupid. 'Course._ Not as if that L-thingy had been the prohibited word, too dangerous to even think in the privacy of your mind. Not as if he'd spent a considerable amount of his time and energy on avoiding to think about that word. Not as if the idea of an angel feeling _that_ for a demon was nothing but one big foolish nonsense, too embarrassing to even consider hoping for. 

"A-Angel..." There were no words. In his head, yes. In his throat, no.

"It's alright." Aziraphale smiled. Aziraphale nodded. Aziraphale understood. (Aziraphale always understood.) "You don't have to say anything, dearest. I just-" He took one of Crowley's hands in both of his (the demon's eyes following his every movement, transfixed, fascinated) and stroked the back with his thumb. "Is this okay?"

He wasn't talking about the hand-holding. Crowley knew as much as that.

"Yeah." His voice sounded scratchy, as if he hadn't used it in years. "Yes, yes, more than okay, angel..."

"Oh, good." Crowley could watch the relief flooding over the angel's face and the sight did decidedly dizzy things to his own belly. "That's all I need to know right now. We have time."

He lifted the demon's hand to his mouth and breathed a kiss to his knuckles.   
Honestly. Had he any idea what such stuff was doing to Crowley? He felt like he might discorporate any second. (Or well, perhaps faint, at least. Not really less embarrassing though.)

"Just know that I want you to heal, Crowley", Aziraphale said seriously. "I want _us_ to heal."

The angel knew it wasn't an easy task. But the necessary thing to do, the right thing to do was barely ever achieved by following the easy path. Crowley's distress (if to Aziraphale's great relief already fading slowly) was still obvious, and despite the collected facade he had kept up carefully until now, he was in no delusions about his own mental state. Something like what they had gone through, as much as the original plan might have failed, such an experience didn't go by without leaving traces. Aziraphale was aware of the scars they both carried now, even graver for their invisibility. Finding them would be a long process. Curing them an even longer one. 

_If I could just grant you some peace of mind, my dear. If you just let me inside your heart. Let me help you. Let me guide you. Let me be the one to save you just this once._

"It will need time", Aziraphale said. "For both of us. But I'm confident that we will. It will just take a bit of-"

"L-Love?"

The angel's lips curled into a smile.

"You're a hopeless romantic, my dear boy."

"'M not", Crowley mumbled, but Aziraphale just smiled wider at his offended frown. (He found those little pretences quite endearing, those moments when Crowley's face said _'I'm a tough evil demon'_ , yet his eyes spoke different words, very similar in their shape to something resembling _'And a damn romantic, okay?? Maybe. Sometimes. But only with you.'_ )

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone", Aziraphale couldn't help but smirk, earning an indignant huff from the demon. (Yet, immediately after, his expression softened again, sending the remains of his already fragile persuasiveness to the bottom of the sea.)

"Love." The angel let the word roll over his tongue, relished in the taste of it after he'd been compelled to deny himself that pleasure for such a long time. "Well, we already have plenty of that now, don't we?" (He couldn't bite it back, wouldn't. Not anymore. Watching Crowley's eyes widen after such small liberties was far too tempting, anyway.) 

"But it wasn't what I meant", he went on, smiling softly at the confusion on Crowley's face. 

_"Forgiveness"_ , he explained _._ A grace too powerful to name...

He watched the demon's brow furrow further, a trace of annoyance written in the lines of his handsome features.

"I don't have to forgive you, angel", Crowley replied, more than a hint of stubbornness in his voice. "There's nothing to forgive."

"Oh no, my love. I didn't mean me." Aziraphale shook his head, smiling lovingly at the demon, _his_ demon. (He hadn't expected him to understand immediately. This wasn't exactly a subject they covered in Hell.)

"Crowley, dear, you have to forgive _yourself."_

Such an _Aziraphale_ thing to say. Crowley knew he meant well. Forgiveness. Not really something demon's had any business with. Self-forgiveness even less so. Why bother with something like that if you were _supposed_ to do unforgivable stuff? Every demon learned rather sooner than later that the thought of absolution was a nice fantasy, but nothing more.

Yes, Crowley knew Aziraphale meant well. Aziraphale always meant well. (Which didn't mean that he always got it right, but let's not go down that road right now.) Aziraphale was the sweetest, kindest, just generally most _angelic_ angel that he knew (the only properly angelic angel that he knew, if we're being honest). Crowley knew Aziraphale wanted only the best for him, and Crowley had always been decidedly bad (if not plain incapable) of denying Aziraphale anything he asked. He couldn't stand the thought what the angel would look like if he told him the truth. That forgiveness wasn't a concept Crowley believed in, no matter how much the angel wished and believed a demon to be worthy of such mercies. 

Still, he wouldn't lie either. (Not ever, and especially not _now_. He was a demon of standards, after all.)

"I'm not sure I can", he therefore confessed truthfully, surprised that the angel didn't look hurt or at least disappointed at all - the kind smile not faltering for even a second.

"I know that, darling", Aziraphale said, baffling him. "And that's alright. It's natural."

And suddenly, something changed in the angel's features, after all, something pleading appearing in his eyes. Crowley wasn't quite sure if Aziraphale was even aware of it - probably not, or he would surely have tried to hide it - but it was there, and something about it brought a lump to the demon's throat.

"Take your time", the angel said in a steady voice, yet eyes glistening slightly. "But will you try? Please."

How could Crowley have denied him? Even if he had wanted to? Even if he hadn't proven to be almost physically incapable of doing so?

"I will", he assured, as convincingly as possible. "I promise." 

Crowley knew it had already been decided that he would keep his word. He _would_ try. He would do anything in his power if Aziraphale wanted him to. (Even if he didn't believe he could succeed - he would gladly question his own convictions if it made his angel happy. And prove them wrong, if given the chance. Crowley had always been a being of questions, after all.)

"Anything for you, angel." (There was no way Aziraphale had any idea about the depth that statement truly encompassed.)

 _It's not for me,_ Aziraphale thought in turn _, it's for you._ But he decided to let it slide for now. As he'd said, they had plenty of time. Enough for everything to work out sooner or later. And it would. (He would make sure it did.)

"Good", he just smiled lovingly instead, "I don't pretend to know the challenges we'll be facing. I know there's no erasing what happened", he said softly, cautiously. "And you need time. _We_ need time." He squeezed the demon's hand he was still securely cradling between both of his, trying to lay as much confidence in his touch and his voice as possible.  
"But I'm not afraid, Crowley", he went on. "I _know_ who you are. And you're always so brave, my love."

 _My love_. Crowley could get used to that. If only the rest were true, too.

"Not feeling very brave right now", Crowley mumbled, his eyes flitting to their hands before they settled on the angel's face again. "And I-... I _am_ afraid, angel."

"Oh, I know, dear." Aziraphale couldn't help but smile, proud of the amount of trust the demon's confession implied. "But bravery is not the absence of fear, Crowley. On the contrary. You can't be brave when you're not afraid", he explained. "To be brave means going on despite the fear."

One of his hands had wandered from Crowley's lap to his face before the angel really knew what he was doing, but there was no time for him to be shocked at his own thoughtless action, as Aziraphale was pleased to note that the demon didn't back away from every movement anymore, but kept almost reverently still as the angel's hand cupped his cheek. (If he had taken a closer look, Aziraphale would have found that Crowley had indeed stopped breathing.)

"So, just let me stay here by your side while we figure it out, alright?", Aziraphale said, his own confidence growing at the sight of Crowley's. "That would be enough for me."

_I could be enough. We could be enough._

A few moments of silence passed. No words, no movement. Crowley looked at him, face expressionless, and Aziraphale held his gaze, careful not to miss any twitch of muscle, any flicker in those golden eyes watching him. 

Then, slowly, (so slowly, at first, that the angel wasn't sure if he had only imagined the motion), Crowley lifted his hand to Aziraphale's still resting on his face, entwined their fingers and brought them to his mouth. The demon held the unblinking eye contact while he pressed a gentle kiss to the angel's palm (Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat, but he didn't care if Crowley noticed), before he let their still joined hands sink back down to linger between their bodies. (When had they gotten so close, anyway?)

"Of course", Crowley said then, voice barely above a whisper. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he closed his eyes for a moment. _"Of course_ , angel. Always."

"Can I hug you?" 

The question had tumbled from his lips before he could stop it, washed out by the surge of well-known relief Crowley's words had released. The demon's eyes snapped open again, pupils blown wide, and Aziraphale already feared he might have crossed a line after all when Crowley bit his lip and nodded shortly. Aziraphale had hardly time to feel relieved _again_ before he already found Crowley in his arms, wrapped up in the angel's embrace - neither knowing who it had been that had leant forward, nor caring in the least.

Crowley released a breath that sounded like he had been holding it for quite a while and went slack against him, and the angel countered by breathing _in_ , absorbing the familiar scent of campfire and leather he had learned to associate with safety and comfort. Short red hair tickled his cheek and he was almost sure to feel the demon's heartbeat against his own chest. 

"I meant it, you know", he whispered close to the demon's ear, simply because he couldn't _not_ say it anymore, now that the words had been spoken once. "I love you, Crowley. I do."

"Ngk." The choked sound brought a smile to the angel's lips, one of many already past and many more to come that night. 

"I know."


	4. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys. I cut it in two AGAIN. It. Just. Keeps. Growing. This was meant to be a one-shot for somebody's sake!  
> However, here we go again, not for the last time. Perhaps there'll be one more chapter, maybe two, who knows at this point? I certainly don't, as it seems! I also apologise for the delay, I'm in the middle of exams. Hope that I finish this before the end of october, as I'll probably be dead by then. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone I usually thank, especially the last-minute readers for my drafts of practically intolerable length that enabled me to post this today. Well, tonight.
> 
> That's it, thank you all so much for sticking with this, I really didn't expect so many subscriptions and comments give me life, so...thanks for keeping the writer's heart beating, y'all.

"Angel?"

"Yes, my love?"

Astonishing. How easily the name already sounded from the angel's lips. Crowley wished it were as easy for him, too. He could only hope time would do the trick.

"Would you mind...staying? With me?", he managed to murmur, his voice so quiet Aziraphale wouldn't have heard if the demon hadn't been so close to his ear. "T-Tonight?"

Crowley dreaded company. But what he dreaded even more was being alone. He knew it would all return to haunt him as soon as he were to be left behind in darkness and silence. The sounds and pictures would return. Even knowing it was an illusion. Aziraphale had told him. But knowing and _knowing_ were different things. (Something your mind might have accepted didn't automatically settle in your heart as well.) He knew he didn't want to be alone tonight. He couldn't. 

And this was Aziraphale. This was _his angel_. If he started fearing _his_ company, who was there left worth living for? He couldn't allow himself to be uncomfortable in the angel's presence. Closeness had always been something he had desired, something to spend warmth and comfort. He wouldn't let that change. 

It was just that someone _there_ was accompanied by the horror of eyes on him, the fear of being watched that was stuck in his bones, burned into his mind and seeping through his veins, poisoning his conscience. He told himself that no one there wouldn't make it better. He told himself that being _watched_ was not the same as being _seen_. Because that was the difference. Aziraphale _saw_. Aziraphale saw him. And deep deep down, buried beneath the panic that had settled around his heart (like a wall with bricks made of fear, shame, guilt and frustration), Crowley _wanted_ to be seen. He longed to be seen, to be heard, to be felt. He hungered for someone to know, for _Aziraphale_ to know, every last scar and bruise and festering wound he kept hidden in the dark. He wanted Aziraphale to see it all, and maybe, maybe, take it anyway, defiled body and bleeding soul that he found. (And love it anyway.) 

"If that's what you want, darling. I'd like that very much", said Aziraphale after a few moments that felt to Crowley like aeons, and even though he hadn't actually thought the angel would reject, he felt the tension leave his shoulders when he found his hopes confirmed.

"But...n-not here", the demon said, barely suppressing a shudder at the thought of spending the whole night in those four walls that had always been a place he _stayed_ rather than _lived_ in. He'd owned the flat since the building existed, yet (apart from the plant room) it was still cold and empty. It had never become home. (Home wasn't a place. Home wasn't somewhere. Home was _someone_.) "Can we...maybe...the- the bookshop?"

"Oh?" Crowley could hear the smile in the angel's voice through the first surge of surprise. "Sure. If you'd like."

"Yeah... it's..." _It's warmth, it's happiness, it's comfort._ "It's so... _you"_ , Crowley explained, aware that he sounded unbearably soppy, grateful that he could hide his blush in the angel's neck.

Aziraphale silently thought to himself that he very much wanted to have a place that was _them_ , but decided not to say it, yet. He didn't want to go, well, too fast.

"Of course", he simply replied, slowly releasing Crowley from his embrace to be able to look at his demon. "Shall I? Or do you need something before we go?"

"No." Crowley shook his head. "Go ahead."

Aziraphale smiled. And then he snapped. 

~oOo~

The back room of the bookshop was already comfortingly illuminated when they arrived, the dim lamps bathing the familiar ensemble of comfy sofa and plush armchair in their warm golden light. Aziraphale had played with the thought of miracling them directly to his barely used bedroom in the flat upstairs, but quickly dismissed the idea in favour of this safer option. (There would come a time for bedrooms, eventually, he figured. This night, however, was not.)

Crowley released a relieved sigh as he slumped down on his usual spot, reinforcing the angel in his decision. They could use all the comfort they could get, was it the familiarity of well-used cushions that memorised the shape of their bodies as they sank into the softness, the atmosphere of surrounding walls that had seen countless hours of carefree (and mostly drunk) companionship, or the simple feeling (illusion, but still...) that nothing had changed (nothing unpleasant had taken place, nothing had disturbed the bubble of their shared world).

Old habits die hard, so Aziraphale wasn't surprised to find himself asking if he could offer Crowley something to drink (both aware that something would inevitably include quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol) - no, he wasn't surprised, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have cursed himself the second the question tumbled from his lips. If there had ever been a time when it was prudent to be sober, it was now and then. Thankfully, Crowley seemed to have gathered enough of his common sense to be aware of that, too.

"Nah", he declined with a dismissive wave of his hand (looking almost like his old self - anyone but Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to tell that something was off). "Don't think that'd be wise."

"Right." Aziraphale stood in his own bookshop, unsure what to do with himself, now that their usual ritual had been broken. "You're right, of course. How silly of me. Don't know why I asked that." He was winning time, seconds he could use for pretence of contemplation before he would have to decide whether to sit down in his usual armchair or (the option he'd much rather go for) if he could dare to join Crowley on the sofa. His eyes flit between the two pieces of furniture, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other...then his gaze grazed Crowley's for a second and - he went with safety.

The armchair hugged his frame just the way it had done a million times before (before today, before Armageddon, before _all that)_ , and he found himself wondering if it had always stood so unbearably far away from where the demon was slouched against the sofa's backrest. Strange. He'd always been so thankful for distance between them, had installed it himself...for reasons. Good reasons. Important reasons. He knew this longing had always been there, somewhere inside of him, deep down at times, bubbling dangerously close to the surface at others, but he'd always known how to extinguish the flame, keep it from boiling over. Shouldn't longing be stronger when you couldn't have what you were longing for? Well, it wasn't. On the contrary. The knowledge that his heart's desire was within reach and just waited to be taken (pardon the unfortunate choice of words) had removed the cover and Aziraphale felt it spilling over the edge, splashing everywhere, painting his body from within with little drops that made his hands twitch with the want to touch, his legs shift to cross the distance and his tongue nervously wrapping around unimportant nothings, yet on the verge of spilling all his best-guarded secrets.

"Are you comfortable, dear?", he asked in the vain hope to find his own desire mirrored in Crowley's eyes. (They hadn't taken the glasses when they left. That was a good sign at least. A sign of trust.)

"Yeah, thanks." _(I'm not_ , thought Aziraphale.)

"Hm", was what left his mouth, and he lowered his gaze to his hand in his lap (the hands he desperately tried to keep from just reaching out and _touch_ of their own accord) unsure how to proceed. He couldn't just make a move. (And wasn't that sweet irony? That Aziraphale, always too afraid and cautious to make the first step, would be held back from doing so, now that he was finally ready? It was his own fault, though. He had been too slow. For millennia, he hadn't been able to accommodate to Crowley's pace. He wouldn't make the same mistake again, now that the places had been reversed.)

"Or maybe..."

"Yes?" His head snapped back up in the speed of light, and the angel could have been embarrassed how ridiculously fast the demon had him on the edge of his seat (literally and figuratively speaking), if there had been any brain capacity left for emotion besides his practically transfixed concentration on Crowley's every move and word.

"I thought...maybe you could come over? Plenty of space here, after all." The demon nodded nervously towards the other end of the sofa and even curled himself further into his corner. (An unusual gesture in itself, regarding the way he used to be splayed out wherever he went and stood. Was it just to underline his words or to avoid body contact despite his offer? Didn't matter. The answer stayed the same.)

"I'd like that", Aziraphale said truthfully (he couldn't have hidden the huge smile spreading on his face if his life depended on it) and released his legs out of their mental blockade to allow them to take the few steps across the room and settle down next to the demon.

"So", he said for lack of anything remotely meaningful, once he'd found a more or less comfortable position (rather less than more, to be honest - he'd never been one for _slouching_ , thank you very much, but the cleanly upright posture he was so used to and comfortable with didn't feel quite right either). He shifted a little, unsure what to do with himself, his legs, his back, his hands. Especially his hands. They were shaking from the effort _not_ to do anything. Aziraphale decided to fold them in front of his belly, relieved about both the familiarity of the neat gesture and the fact that it would hopefully hide his agitation. The last thing he wanted was to scare Crowley away again, after they had come this far, and just because he wasn't able to pull his... _stuff_ together.

"So", repeated Crowley, a likewise uncomfortable grin on lips that were pressed too tightly.

Aziraphale didn't like this. This awkward tension that had settled over the both of them all of a sudden. Crowley had requested to come here and Aziraphale had been happy to oblige, hopeful (even expecting) that it would boost their confidence. Instead, it seemed like a step back from where they had been at the flat. They had a way to go, the angel knew well enough, and he was more than willing to do so, but he much preferred a pace _forward._ So what could be the matter with him? He hadn't been this ridiculously nervous and restrained back at the flat... 

But Crowley hadn't been nearly as settled, then. The angel had had no choice but to be the calm one. And this was his bookshop. This was _their_ room. It was nice, being here, yes, but the comfortable familiarity brought a new sense of _something_ Aziraphale hadn't quite been able to place yet. Something that made his heart flutter and his hands sweaty, something...

Something... _intimate_. That was it. Here, surrounded by walls that had come to be their safe space, every new step felt so much more meaningful and final. 

Aziraphale exhaled a shaky breath, internally gathering himself. He'd have to be careful about this. He couldn't lose control here, or he might hurt Crowley even more.

"Perhaps you'd like to sleep for a bit", he said what seemed him to be the least potentially dangerous suggestion. "You must be exhausted. I could take care of your dreams, you know..." _Make sure you don't have any_.

"Don't want to sleep. Not yet"

"Okay, fine. Then..." 

_W_ _hat?_ The question hung in the air between them, unspoken, but no less heavy.

"I don't know, okay?", Crowley snapped more forcefully than intended, quickly curling back into himself again. "I- ...I'm sorry, I just... I _don't know._ "

"I see."

They sat in silence again, after that, Aziraphale contemplating how to finally break whatever awful atmosphere they were caught in. He considered reaching out several times, taking Crowley's hand, perhaps. His fingers twitched and he let them clench and unclench several times to make them stop and obey. It didn't help. They didn't stop wanting. He didn't reach out either.

"I want to help you", he finally said, a hint of desperation seeping through the tenderness in his voice despite his best effort to hold it back. "But- this is _you_. I'm afraid I'll just make a mess of things", he finally voiced what made his heart clench with fear in his chest, "and I can't afford to make it worse, I-"

"Aziraphale." Crowley sounded calm. Steady. How was _he_ calm now? "Angel." Oh, _Good Lord_ , he had taken Aziraphale's hand. The angel gulped, staring in disbelief at the demon's fingers curled around his own sweaty palm before he tore his gaze away to look in those gorgeous amber eyes instead. "I already _am_ a mess. And...this is _you_ ", the demon quoted Aziraphale's words back at him with a little smile. "Worst thing that could come from you would still make it better."

Aziraphale bit his lip, eyeing him doubtfully. (Far too at home on his angelic face now, doubt and nerves. Crowley didn't like it. Much less because it was because of _him_. But then, the angel had always been kind of nervous. Basically a character trait. Crowley wondered if he might manage to change that, some time.)

"I trust you", he said, because it was true and it felt right to say it. And indeed, Aziraphale's expression changed instantly - His eyes and mouth opened in surprise for a second before it all melted into something Crowley would have called admiration, had he been more acquainted with anything alike directed his way.

"I-" The angel trailed off, blinked as if rethinking what he'd been about to say. Even as he swallowed to gather his thoughts, his gaze never left Crowley's face. "Good", he said then, steadier. "If you're sure. I'd...I'd like you to try something for me, darling."

"Anything", Crowley blurted out without hesitation, feeling the heat creeping up his neck to paint his ears when he realised how needy he must have sounded. The hand that had been bold enough to grab Aziraphale's in an inexplicable surge of bravery retreated again to rub awkwardly at said hot neck instead. If Aziraphale minded, he didn't let it show, not even a twinkle in his eyes, just the usual gentle smile curling his mouth.

"I have been reading about this technique", the angel began then, visibly relaxing as he returned to the familiar territory of his beloved books and studies. "It's a method humans use, to...well, release themselves of...basically whatever they want to leave behind, I suppose", he explained. "Just...negativity, you might call it. I don't know if it works for everyone, but...I admit I tried it myself and found it to be quite...liberating, actually." He gave Crowley an almost shy look that was clearly seeking his approval. "I just thought, perhaps..."

"Sure." Crowley nodded, only too happy to give Aziraphale the confirmation he sought, and was instantly rewarded with a pleased smile spreading across the angel's face. "Anything you think might help. Let's try."

"Fine." Aziraphale straightened a little, palms placed neatly on his thighs. He threw a glance at Crowley who had taken to follow his lead in sitting up slightly. Not so much as to lose the effortless coolness of _loafing_ , mind you, but fairly so it showed interest and (might he be so hopeful to call it will?) for whatever Aziraphale might consider worth endeavouring. 

"R-Right now?", Aziraphale asked, surprised at the demon's sudden...well, _vitality_. 

Crowley lifted his hands in a confirming gesture.

"No time like the present."

"Yes. Right", Aziraphale agreed, a bit stunned, but not displeased, by any means. "So, what I want you to do, that is... " He hesitated, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. This would probably be harder than it sounded, at first. "What I'd like is for you to try and let go, Crowley."

He studied the demon's face as he said it, looking out for any signs of reaction. The slits of his eyes narrowed a bit and the corner of his mouth twitched, but apart from that, he seemed fine. He even nodded, urging Aziraphale to go on. (He'd probably felt the angel's cautiousness and wanted to reassure him, the dear creature.)

"I don't know how you must be feeling right now", Aziraphale continued softly, "I don't know how hard it must be, but you don't need to hold onto all that anymore, dear. If there's..." He swallowed, scolded himself. _(You have to be the strong one here right now, idiot!)_ "If there's pain", he managed composedly, "let it go, my love. Fear, sorrow, worry. Guilt or shame. It doesn't matter what else. Everything holding you down, holding you back. That's all unnecessary now. You don't need it anymore. You don't have to hide anything, you don't have to hold back." He felt something inside him softening as he watched Crowley's eyes widen more and more at his words - open, vulnerable. "You're safe now", Aziraphale told him because he simply had to. "Here. With me. You know that, right?"

Crowley nodded and was rewarded with a sound that was a mixture of relief and contentment. (The demon made a mental note that he would make it his personal task to draw such noises out of Aziraphale as often as demonly possible).

"Good." Aziraphale smiled like he always did when he was pleased with something and budged a bit towards his end of the sofa, gesturing to the created space. "Maybe you'd like to lie down? Only if you want, of course. I just thought it might be more comfortable...?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Crowley obeyed, letting himself slide even further down the backrest until his head was settled on one of the terribly old-fashioned pillows with lace-beading he pretended to resent but was secretly fond of (just because they were so irrefutably _Aziraphale_ ) and faced the ceiling. He could rather feel than see Aziraphale shifting his weight, the cushions giving way and being pushed down where Crowley's feet rested (he tried not to think about the implications, an angel placed at a demon's feet) and waited for further instructions.

"Wonderful. Everything fine, dear? Perfect." Aziraphale released a breath as if he were the one that needed to relax rather than the demon, but when he spoke next, his voice was calm and steady, radiating a flow of confidence neither of them had expected, but both appreciated immensely. "Now then, try to let go, Crowley. I know it's hard, dearest. But try to picture it", he advised, "try to visualize everything that's burdening you. And then imagine yourself releasing your hold. Let it go. Let it all fall off..."

Crowley did as he was told, closed his eyes and tried to relax, to form a picture before his inner eye just like the angel instructed him to.

"That's good", he heard Aziraphale's voice. "You're doing so well, darling. I'm so proud of you, love."

Crowley shuddered, unsure if it was the mental concentration or the words of praise. Probably both. (What a demon he was. Self-control shattered to bits at the slightest hint of affection. Really not pitiful at all.)

"Always so good for me, so willing", Aziraphale whispered appreciatively and Crowley barely managed to suppress an even more pathetic (and certainly extremely undemonic) whimper. 

He felt that it seemed to work, though. Picturing it. He could see the dark corners he was supposed to look for. He tried to will whatever was hiding in them to get out, but it wouldn't move, as if another part of his own mind was building a wall to keep it in, holding onto it despite his best efforts.

"A-Aziraphale", he breathed, eyes pressed close. "I-I'm-"

"I know." A warm hand reached for his, a tentative touch, a question, and he grabbed it, grateful for the halt it provided. "I know you're afraid", the angel's soft voice continued. "It's frightening to let something go that you've been carrying with you for so long. I know, my love..."

(Another sound left his throat, something that was _certainly not_ a whine!)

"Trust me, dear." The other's hand gave a gentle squeeze, reassuring him. "It's going to be fine. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm here."

The words seeped into Crowley's mind, mingled with his own invisible force that tried to drive out whatever was bathing him in darkness. He felt the wall crack.

"I have you, dearest." Aziraphale squeezed again, more firmly this time. "I'll catch you."

And the wall crumbled. 

It was a feeling like falling, but also entirely different from any other sort of fall he'd experienced so far. It was frightening and liberating and made him want to sigh in relief and sob and scream all at the same time. He felt dizzy. Corners of his body, mind and soul that had been filled with darkness so far cleared and the familiar pressure of it just gone was so new and _empty_ that he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. It felt strange and uncomfortable at first, like losing a long companion, something he had grown and fed over the years, clutched onto even though he knew it would be devouring him at some point. Being without it was a shock, he panicked for a second, his breathing quickening in a chest that felt far too light.

Maybe he couldn't let it go. Pain, sorrow and worry. They were old friends to him, familiar and _known._ What else was he to hold onto when they were gone? He couldn't stand the feeling of these corners in him just staying empty. He needed _something_ there. Even if it was dark and nagging. He felt like his organs had been liquefied and flown out of him along with the pain and he couldn't breathe. (It didn't matter that he didn't actually need to. At this moment, he _believed_ he did. So - he _did_.) All the air was sucked out of his lungs, all the _everything_ was sucked out of his _everywhere_. He couldn't stay like this. He needed-

And then he felt it. There was something else, seeking its way to seep into his being, a warm shiny flow of something new and yet familiar flooding through his veins, filling in the empty places he'd just cleared. Whatever it was, he'd felt it before, or at least he through so. He definitely knew that feeling, but not like this, never in this intensity, never this strong and glowing and all-encompassing. Whatever it was, it was wonderful. Crowley let himself be swept away by the sensation, watched before his inner eye how it filled him up, every corner, every pore until there was no space left, not a single hole for darkness to creep back in. He sighed. He could breathe again. Better than before. Better than ever.

He opened his eyes and looked at Aziraphale, smiling down at him in a way he'd never seen before.

He knew what it was, then. Of course. What else could it be?

 _Trust me_ , Aziraphale had said. _I'll catch you._

Crowley had fallen so many times. But he'd never been caught before. It wasn't so bad, knowing how it felt to take a fall, not when you could anticipate ending up in an angel's arms.

A silent tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek, and the angel leaned forward to brush it away with his thumb, still smiling.

"Angel, you're glowing." 

Aziraphale blinked, smiled more.

"It's the love, my dear."

"Didn't know you could do that."

Aziraphale hummed.

"Is it alright?"

"Yes." Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Yeah, it's wonderful."

Relief washed clear as day over the angel's face then, so palpable Crowley could almost taste it.

"I'm glad", was all Aziraphale said though, his expression returning to that warm smile again.

"Mhm. 'S nice", Crowley mumbled, still a bit dizzy from the light surrounding him (from both inside and outside). He reached for it once more, tried to let himself feel the expanse of it and had to draw back again with a shallow breath. "But...there's so much of it", he said in disbelief, his eyes seeking Aziraphale's, "I- I never thought..."

"Oh, Crowley." The angel shook his head fondly, the corner of his mouth curling in what seemed like a sort of shy amusement. "There's much, much more, dear. I admit I wasn't sure if you would like it", he confessed, biting his lip in this endearing way of his. "Didn't want to hurt you, in case that...you know. Or to overwhelm you, that is."

"It's fine!" (Seemed to become a habit now, blurting out stuff like a complete fool.) To be honest, he _was_ a bit overwhelmed, but what he knew for certain was that he absolutely didn't want Aziraphale to _take it back_. "I like it", he assured him therefore. "It's...just a lot." 

The angel seemed almost embarrassed, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be."

Aziraphale looked at him with gentle eyes, a tenderness that dug its way beneath the demon's skin, right into his very soul. He felt exposed, vulnerable. And safe. He knew the angel was studying him, able to make out every raw hint of emotion laid bare on his face. Crowley wanted him to see. Aziraphale had trusted him enough to finally reveal what he'd kept hidden for so long, even if it had in fact barely scratched the surface. Crowley couldn't know the full expanse of it yet, but that was probably a precaution that had been taken more for the demon's sake than the fact that Aziraphale felt the need to hold back. That was a sentiment they shared. 

_You don't have to hold back_ , the angel had said. And he didn't want to. Not anymore. He was tired. Exhausted, really. He just wanted it all out in the open, no more strength wasted in pointless hiding. He wanted the angel to read him, study him like an open book. He wanted Aziraphale to know every letter engraved in his heart, wanted to feel the angel's soft hands stroke over his pages, turn them over as he pleased and lose himself in the words of love Crowley had stored there just for him. Volumes and volumes, piled up and locked away, rows of dusty shelves no one else had ever seen, no one else had ever touched. He wanted the angel to find them, bring them out in the light at last, learn to find his way in the labyrinth of paragraphs until he knew every last one down to the wording. They had been written for him, because of him. They _belonged to_ him. (Crowley belonged to him.) He just had to reach out and open the first page.

"Have you any idea how long I've wanted to tell you?", the angel brought a voice to what Crowley couldn't put into words, as if he had read his thoughts, felt what the demon's heart failed to express (and maybe he had). "How many times I wished" _(and feared)_ "you could see?"

_Tell me. Show me._

"May I?", Aziraphale asked, voice careful and hesitant, yet unable to hide the undeniable hope it carried. (Had Crowley said it out loud after all? This desire in him to _know?_ No. He couldn't voice it. Maybe it was just written on his face. Or maybe...maybe Aziraphale simply felt the same. Either way, the angel's words were just what Crowley longed to hear.) 

"I want to, darling", he said. "I want you to feel how loved you are."

 _Yes,_ answered Crowley's mind (or maybe it was his heart. Who knew) _. I want to know. Please. I need-_

"But..." Aziraphale's brow furrowed suddenly, a concerned frown the demon didn't like at all. "I- I don't want to go... " _too fast for you._ "I don't want it to be too much for you, dearest. I don't-"

 _I don't want to stir memories,_ Crowley read on his face, as plain and clear as if the angel had said it out loud.

His worry made Crowley's heart clench, but it was also comforting and just a tad incredible to him that someone would love him this much. Even more so as this someone was _Aziraphale_. He was hardly a stranger to the sentiment, mind you. To love someone more than your own life was more than a silly romantic notion to him. He knew it was possible. He had millennia of personal experience in that area. What he couldn't wrap his mind around was that it worked both ways. He wasn't used to being to one at the _receiving end_ , had never even entertained the possibility until literal hours ago. He was supposed to be the one who gave, without expecting anything in return. And he'd been more than happy to fill that role. He would have gone on like that for eternity, if his angel would allow him to. Living his life in shadow didn't seem that bad, not when he could steal an occasional spark of sunlight named Aziraphale. He'd just figured that was his place. 

Sure, he'd always known the angel cared for him, to a certain degree, but that was just what he was supposed to do, after all. Love every creature, big and small. Never would he have dared to presume there was hope for something more there, a kind of love that was different, that was _his_ and his alone... 

He could see it right now, shining from Aziraphale's eyes, could still feel the aftermath of that warm glow pulsing in his body and soul. It was so clearly and almost tangibly _there_ , why was it still so hard for him to believe it?

Fact was, he knew why. He knew exactly why. He just didn't know how to change it. It was the simple conviction that had resided in Crowley since he could remember, that he was unworthy. He was a demon, one of the Fallen, one of the bad guys. He wasn't meant to have a happy end. He was who ruined it for others. 

He hadn't asked to Fall. However, that didn't do anything about what he was (not _who_ he was! That, at least, Crowley had somehow managed to believe could -and should- be strictly separated). He was reminded of that every time he looked in the mirror, serpentine eyes staring back at him, a spineless creature, doomed to crawl at the other's feet (at Aziraphale's feet). There were times when he almost felt like he had done it, was over it, had tricked his own nature somehow. Moments when he felt like he could just unapologetically be himself. No watchful eyes from below, judging and punishing him for his every move...

But those moments had always been fleeting. Crepes in a French restaurant in the middle of a Revolution. A bag with old books, snatched from the dead hands of a Nazi spy crushed by church-rubble. A blue stain that vanished from a cream-coloured coat as if it had never been there in the first place. He thought he could have that permanently now, after the Armageddon-That-Couldn't. But he'd been wrong. As always, it had just been a matter of time (how ironic for an immortal being to feel like he was running out of time, like he was running until his time was finally up, again and again and again).

He would have to learn how to trust again. Trust the world that it wouldn't turn against him for simply being what he was. Trust Aziraphale to mean what he said, to not change his mind, to stay by his side. And trust himself not to throw it all away, to accept what he was granted, regardless of whether he considered himself worthy or not. Perhaps he would learn to. Perhaps Aziraphale could teach him. He had already started. Guilt, shame and self-loathing weren't companions you could banish easily. There would be something left, for sure. Dirt you tried to clean off after it had formed a thick crust for years didn't just vanish in one go without leaving stains. Filth was nasty, collecting in every corner, clinging to every unevenness it found. And Crowley had _a lot_ of those.

Still, it was a beginning. 

"Please, angel..." Thank someone he'd finally found his voice again _at all_.

"Yes?" Aziraphale's face was so full of hope Crowley wanted to cry. "Tell me, my dear", he asked encouragingly, as if he needed to hear it just as badly as Crowley needed to make himself heard. "Tell me what you need. Tell me what I can do. Anything at all."

"I- I-"

_I need to feel it. Feel you. I need to believe it._

He wanted to say it. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he had waited an intolerable amount of time to finally say. Why wouldn't the words come, now that they were free to do so? His vocal cords weren't used to this freedom. They had been trained to hold back, experts in swallowing everything of real importance. It was hard to change a six-thousand-year-old habit. A six-thousand-year-old _survival instinct_ , more like. Crowley growled at his own inability, wishing he could will his voice into obedience like his plants.

"Shh...it's okay." Aziraphale smiled understandingly, sensing Crowley's frustration. "Maybe..." He trailed off, swallowed, bit his lip.   
"Do you..." The angel smiled shyly, fidgeting with the hem of his well-worn waistcoat. "Feel free to decline, my dear", he said then, struggling to hold the demon's gaze as he spoke, his eyes flitting between Crowley's face and his own worrying thumbs. "But...do you think it would be alright if I tried to kiss you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this made sense to you, I took so many breaks (hehe, here come the references again) in between writing bits of this that I just loosely glued them together in the end and hoped something readable would come of it...


	5. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Sorry.  
> I hope anyone is even reading this anymore after it took me SO LONG to update. I bet you don't even know anymore what happened in this story. I apologise. I really do. Especially after the ending of the last one. I had an internship for five weeks and didn't really get to write then and now I'm preparing for the new term to start but that's just a weak excuse. Bc what I did, guys, was just what I always do - and that's being unable to bring anything to an end, starting smth new instead, getting hooked on it...and here we are.  
> Anyway, I'm babbling. After I picked this up again it grew and grew and grew some more until I had to split it AGAIN so yeah. As I said twice before (I think, lost count): One more to come after this.
> 
> As always, thanks to my two lovely betas, you know who you are.  
> Thanks so everyone who's still willing to give this a shot, I appreciate all of you so much. Sorry for mistakes, I pray that you like it anyway as we're entering the fluffy phase now! 
> 
> Comments are the writer's beating heart and typing fingers.

_Do you think it would be alright if I tried to kiss you?_

Crowley stared.

He stared some more.

Then he nodded. (More like he _felt_ himself nod.)

He was glad his body still knew how to act, even before his brain had managed to catch up. He was frightened. _Terrified_ , actually, but he also _wanted_. (He'd wanted too long, for too many years, on too many occasions, in too many ways for it not to bend him to its will now that he was allowed to let himself be swept away and overpowered.)

He was even more glad Aziraphale knew (and Aziraphale wanted, too...).   
His wonderful angel. Always aware of what Crowley needed and ready to give it in an instant.

Said angel was leaning forward now (at least that was what Crowley's half-functional brain told him must be the cause of the angel slowly yet steadily coming _closer_ ), a gentle glow in his eyes, just a hint of a dark blue spark underneath the tenderness, betraying a nervous excitement the angel tried to hold back for now, for his own sake just as much as the demon's. Crowley was momentarily distracted by the fact that _blue_ flames were those that looked cool yet burned the hottest, but quickly returned to the origin of said metaphor when he felt Aziraphale's warm breath ghost over his lips. (He'd been close. But. When did he get _this_ close?? Barely a hair's breadth...)

Then the gap was gone.

As was Crowley's remaining sensible brain capacity.

There was only warmth. Lips moving slowly, tentatively against his, melting together as if they had been made to fit against each other. The darkness against his eyelids, even though he wasn't aware his eyes had fluttered shut. A soft sight changing its owner - it had been Aziraphale's, Crowley was almost sure, but now that it had travelled through the connection of their mouths and wrapped around the demon's tongue, it might just as well have been his own.

Not that it mattered. It wasn't the last sound of pleasure slipping the angel as their careful dance stretched into seconds that felt both like an aeon and a heartbeat, and Crowley drank the sounds in like a starving man, because he _was_. He'd been starving for this, for kindness and attention and _love_ , ever since it was ripped from him to leave nothing but an empty hollow in his soul that swallowed every spark of goodness.

But this was different. Those were not attentions born out of politeness or obligation or -God forbid- fear. Aziraphale gave freely, selflessly, happily. His love was a gift. It was unconditional and boundless, and Crowley could feel it. (Was it intentional? Aziraphale releasing it? Or had he simply lost the ability to think just as Crowley had? All he could do right now was _feel_.)

And oh _yes_ , he felt it, felt how it flowed through his very veins, deeper, _deeper_ , until it flooded the hole his Fall had left - not to drown in the void but to _fill_ it, to fill the emptiness inside him with something warm and soft and beautiful just like the first time Aziraphale had sent it out for Crowley to sense how it flowed into him, around him, _enveloped_ him.

"Wait." Crowley broke the kiss, but just enough so he could speak, his face still so close to Aziraphale's that their lips almost touched. "Angel, wait."

"Was it too much?" Crowley could _hear_ Aziraphale's brow furrowing in worry, the high pitched edge of dawning fear in a voice that was supposed to sound nothing but calm and happy. "I'm sorry, I should have controlled myself better, I-"

"Aziraphale." Crowley dared to lean their foreheads together, a motion that silenced the angel more quickly than any words would probably have. "It's alright." He was panting slightly. His body didn't seem to know breath was purely optional. "It was...nice. _Very_ nice. I just- ...H-How far do you want to take this?"

Aziraphale blushed, more furiously than the chasteness of their kiss would have suggested appropriate, but despite it all the angel had felt how he'd already gotten a bit carried away. He was grateful Crowley had been sensible enough to end it before anything got out of hand. To be honest, he was slightly ashamed at the realisation that he might have been too far gone already to do so himself. (The demon clearly had no idea _whatsoever_ how much he affected him.)

"Oh. Yes, of course." There was the nervous lip-bite again, and it was doing things to Crowley, always had, but now up close, every detail visible... the change of colour as Aziraphale released it, white turning back into well-kissed red. (This fact alone was enough to undo him... Oh _wow_. Fuuuck. He was losing it, wasn't he. Concentration, Crowley!) But then...he was relieved. Somewhere deep down, fear had been nagging at him. Even though it seemed impossible (it _was_ impossible), he couldn't deny that he had secretly been afraid he wouldn't be able to experience _this_ again. Excitement. Attraction. Not in a _pleasant_ way, at least.

But it was. This was. This was new and exhilarating and (dare he even think such a term?)...lovely.

They hadn't kissed before. They hadn't kissed...then. This was just normal growing relationship stuff. This was how it was supposed to work. This was how it should have been from the beginning. (This wasn't overshadowed by memory.)

"How thoughtless of me", Aziraphale's voice pierced through his thoughts, thank someone, just as they were in danger of drifting off to very unwelcome territory. "I'm fine with whatever makes you comfortable", the angel told him calmly, even though the adorable blush was still painting his cheeks. "Just tell me what you want, darling."

Wait, what was that?

Want. _Want?_ What did he want? Had anyone ever asked him what _he_ wanted? He couldn't recall. For the longest time, he hadn't believed he was even _supposed_ to want anything. (Why want if there was no chance of being given?) No surprise the question threw him far more off course than it probably should have.

"I- I want-"

_I want to forget. I want it to be different. I want it to be **us.**_

He wanted more of this. Whatever _this_ had been.

"I...want to go slow. Gentle", was what left his mouth. Not that he had actively through about any words, really, he was kind of just grateful there were some already there, surprisingly waiting at the tip of his tongue. So he let them out, listening what they said just as the angel did. "Just...more of...- I dunno. Stuff. Little stuff. Slow stuff. If that's alright? I mean...it doesn't _always_ have to be like that, but...yeah. I think for now, I- I don't just want it to be... _that,_ you know. I want it to be..."

"Love", Aziraphale finished his sentence with a soft smile.

It wasn't a question. Crowley closed his eyes, pressed his lips together to a thin line, chasing the tears away that threatened to make an appearance again.

"Is that okay?"

"It sounds perfect, my darling." (This. This was how the voice was supposed to sound.)

"I thought...we could perhaps..." Crowley gestured to the sofa they were sitting on. Far more comfortable than the one in his flat, far less comfortable than a piece of furniture with three letters Crowley didn't yet dare to think about would have been. He wasn't ready, that much he knew. But there were ways, weren't there. Being immortal entities with access to occult (and ethereal) powers didn't only come with exhausting duties and horrible headquarters, after you left all the annoying stuff behind, it did have some advantages, to be sure.

Aziraphale's smile widened in understanding, and it didn't take long until he had envisioned what he wanted to go for and snapped downwards, adding a considerable amount of width to the sofa underneath them. (Unnecessary to say everything in the way moved obediently out of said way, from piles of books ever small coffee tables to the angel's favourite armchair.)

"Good?"

"Yeah." Crowley stroked over the newly appeared leather next to him, a space wide enough to accommodate a plush angelic figure, if he chose to invite him to lie there. "'S perfect. Thanks."

His eyes travelled across the room, unsure where to settle, the familiar urge to look at Aziraphale fighting against the new voice in his head that told him to look anywhere _but_ at the angel. Finally, the old-established want triumphed and his gaze met soft blue eyes, patient eyes that made an unexpected wave of bravery wash over him.

"Maybe you could...tell me?", he found himself saying before the words had even formed in his head.

Aziraphale crooked an eyebrow at him.

"Tell you?"

"Yeah." Crowley could feel his ears heating up and resisted the urge to break their eye contact. _It's okay,_ he reminded himself. _You're allowed to want. You're allowed to need. You're allowed to ask for things._ "You said there was...more", he said vaguely, annoyed with himself that he couldn't just _say_ it, it was just a stupid little word, four bloody letters, not the damn Pater Noster. However, he knew Aziraphale was aware of what the demon was talking about. "I-I'm not sure I can take more, just now", Crowley confessed truthfully. "Feeling, I mean. But I think I'd like to know. Would you tell me?"

(How did Crowley deserve the sight of Aziraphale's face lighting up at those words? In fact, he almost seemed to be physically glowing...)

"So, just to be clear...you want me to name things I love about you?" Crowley nodded (in a way that would've been called shy for any other creature but a demon) and the angel glowed a bit brighter. "It would be my pleasure." Where to start. _Something simple. Something small. (Don't be too much. Don't go too fast.)_ "I love your hair."

"Really?"

"Mhm. The colour", Aziraphale explained. "Always found it incredibly dashing."

"The colour of fire and war", Crowley mumbled, fiddling one of the strands between his fingers as if seeing it for the first time. "Destruction."

"The colour of bravery and love." Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley's, stopped their fumbling, and earned the desired effect - yellow eyes finding his own.

"I used to daydream about them", he told the stunned demon. "Especially after the flood. Those long curls. Oh, and the braid. I desperately wanted to know what it felt like to braid my fingers through those strands..."

"You could do it now..." Crowley swallowed and actually blushed slightly. "If you want to, that is. Even though they're short now."

"I don't mind that. I admit I always found it quite...exciting. Not to know what you would look like the next time I saw you. The different forms and hairstyles. You were always a bit more...free with all that than me. But still undeniably you. I admired that."

Crowley couldn't answer because Aziraphale had indeed taken up on brushing his fingers through the demon's hair and Crowley's mind had seen fit to quit thinking the first time Aziraphale's perfectly-manicured nails slightly scratched over his scalp. (Not that he would have known what to reply to something as extraordinarily lovely and false, anyway.)

"What else?", he simply breathed out instead, not trusting his voice to carry the volume of actual speaking.

"Mhm..." He couldn't see it from this angle, but Aziraphale smiled at the hardly concealed curiosity, the hunger for affection that lay buried beneath.  
"Your wings", he said then. "I didn't get that many looks at them." (But he hoped that to change in the future). "I still remember the first time I saw them, though. The way the light caught in the feathers, making them shimmer in all these different colours." Aziraphale sounded as if he were getting lost in thoughts, probably recalling the image he tried to paint for Crowley before his inner eye. "I'd never seen anything alike. I remember wondering how anything could be so breathtaking, how _you_ could be so breathtaking..."

Despite the fluttering in his chest, a crooked grin formed in the corner of Crowley's mouth.

"Because demons are supposed to be nasty and ugly, huh?" (Knowing Hastur, he couldn't really blame Aziraphale for that assumption, though.)

"Well." Aziraphale shrugged guiltily. "Forgive me my misjudgement there, dear boy. I'm afraid I was slightly prejudiced, then. But I didn't know you. If I had, it wouldn't have surprised me at all that you had to be the most wonderful thing I had ever laid eyes on."

And there it was again. The angel's undeniably unique and undeniably annoying talent to turn a demon (well, _this_ particular demon) in a pathetic puddle of lovesick goo through nothing more than some well-chosen words. (Not that Aziraphale had to _actively_ choose them well. He just had the natural ability to do so without even thinking about, let alone being aware of it.)

In that moment, Crowley was painfully aware that he'd left his glasses behind in his flat. He could easily have summoned a new pair out of nowhere, but doing so just for the sake of hiding felt ridiculous. He couldn't do that _here, now, with him_. (A sting in his heart told him that he shouldn't even want to. Maybe that was something to work on for later.) He was safe here. He didn't need his protection. He was allowed to show, allowed to be seen. It was just that being vulnerable wasn't exactly a thing demons were very good at, and in this case, this particular demon was no exception. Crowley detested vulnerability (which didn't mean he indulged in the illusion that he never _was_ , he just didn't want anyone to _notice)_. Vulnerability was weakness. And he was supposed to be the strong one. He was supposed to be the tough, unyielding demon that didn't give a damn about stupid stuff like _feelings -_ not those of others and certainly not his own. Well, that ship had sailed a long time ago, he supposed (correctly), but that didn't mean he was comfortable with just letting it all spill out, for heaven's sake! He couldn't hide behind his glasses. (He _wouldn't!)_ So he simply averted his eyes.

"Crowley, look at me." The request was immediate, but soft. What was he to do but follow?

"Lovely." That simple word was enough to make him want to turn away again. Hide. But he didn't. _Don't_ , he said instead through his gaze. _Don't lie. Don't lie out of pity._

"I mean it", the angel insisted as if able to read his thoughts. "I love your eyes, too."   
And Crowley turned away.

"Can't be serious. Those are the eyes of a snake, Aziraphale. The eyes of a demon."

"They're _your_ eyes, Crowley."

It made Aziraphale almost angry, that Crowley would look upon his own golden eyes and not see their loveliness, that Crowley thought Aziraphale could look at them and only see the demonic appearance, something to fear instead of the warm loving glow in them, the beauty of his soul shining through that made Crowley's entire appearance so unbearably breathtaking. It was a soul that had rebelled against Heaven and Hell alike, a soul so strong and determined that no one could make it their slave, no one could tell it what to do but its exceptionally brave owner.

"And I find them just as beautiful as every other part of you." There was no answer, the demon's face still turned away, his jaw tight, teeth pressed together behind the thin line of lips.

"It doesn't matter, you being a demon and fallen" the angel continued, as gently but insistently as possible, "you are lovely exactly the way you are. You wouldn't be you anymore without it. And I am so very fond of you just as you are."

He waited patiently for Crowley to say something, watched him contemplating for a couple of seconds, chewing on his bottom lip until he finally, slowly, turned back to the angel with astonished, searching eyes.

"You mean that, don't you."

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale smiled, absentmindedly brushing a strand out of the demon's forehead (Crowley revelled in it, revelled in the _casualness_ of it). "I can't tell you how it always took my breath away, having you take off your glasses in the backroom of the bookshop. I relished the trust that gesture implied. And I often caught myself getting quite lost in those eyes, dear..." Helpless. He'd always been entirely helpless looking in those eyes, drowning in them.

"I love your eyes, too", Crowley said, eager to change the subject. (Not that he didn't want to hear those things. He'd asked to hear those things, had hoped and longed to hear those things since forever. But to hear wasn't to believe. And to believe something you had written off as impossible was damn near impossible itself, no matter how much you might want to.)

"Do you?"

"Yeah. They're like the sky after a storm, just when everything starts to calm again", he babbled, aware how unbearably soppy and damn _poetic_ he probably sounded. Well. Anyway.   
"'S soothing", he mumbled with a little shrug of his shoulders. "Peaceful."

Aziraphale just smiled. Was that gentle smile continuously painted on his face from now on? Well, if that was all... Crowley could live with that.

"Can I?"

He needed a moment to register what the angel was asking. When he did, he froze.

And cursed himself the next second. It was in his bones now, it seemed, shying away from suggestions of new touch. A reflex. Crowley swallowed it down and told it to fuck off. Anyhow, Aziraphale had visibly noticed. The angel fidgeted hesitantly in his seat, the hand he had stretched out a moment before to signalise his request to lay down with Crowley on the (currently more bed-shaped) sofa was drawn back and wrung nervously in his lap and he just started to open his mouth in an obvious attempt to apologise for his forwardness when Crowley cut him off.

"Go on." The demon shifted closer to the backrest, making space for the angel in invitation.

"You're-"

"-sure? Yeah. It's fine." He slid down to a lying position, patting the spot next to him with what he hoped would be an encouraging smile. Whether or not Aziraphale could still see the hint of nerves behind it, Crowley couldn't tell, either way, after a few more seconds of thoughtful lip-biting and thorough scrutinizing, the angel nodded and followed his instruction. There was a bit of uncomfortable wiggling and shifting at first, both searching for a position that wouldn't be too touchy or too awkward and (after an unreasonably high number of _Sorry'_ s, _Could you'_ s and _Let me just'_ s) ended up with Aziraphale on his back with Crowley tucked into his side, the demon's head nestled under the angel's on his shoulder, one arm across Aziraphale's middle. (He had tried not to and failed miserably to find any other position that wasn't a) terribly uncomfortable and b) ridiculously obvious in its uncomfortableness how hard he was trying).

"Mhm." The hum reverberated through the angel's body and right into Crowley's and he had to suppress a shiver. "You're quite cuddly for a demon, you know." Crowley could hear the hint of a smirk in his voice.

"Bastard", he murmured, but somehow, having your voice muffled by a warm mouthful of angel quite took the bite out of such (halfhearted as they already were) insults. "Shut up. 'm not. I'm a snake. I'm constricting you."

"Of course you are, dear." Now there was a smile in his voice. _The_ smile. The one Crowley secretly liked to consider _his_ smile. "My mistake."

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to each other's breathing, and Crowley dared to close his eyes after a while, relieved to feel his treacherous body more and more relaxing towards the way he'd imagined it would be, _should_ be (in those rare cases when he had imagined anything at all, when he had dared to actively hope). At some point, he could feel fingers sneaking back into his hair, gently brushing through the strands in slow strokes. He twitched at the first unexpected contact but sighed into it immediately as soon as he grasped what was happening, delighted that the feeling was already familiar to him by now.

"Would you mind...I mean..is this still alright?" (Damn attentive angel. Apparently, he'd even noticed the millisecond of a flinch.)

All his cautious questioning. It was sort of comforting but made Crowley cringe at the same time. It wasn't what he had imagined. He didn't want Aziraphale to have to hold back. He didn't want those things in his mind to boycott them.

"You don't have to ask all the time, you know. I'm...fine." It had come out more snappy than intended and of course Aziraphale immediately picked up on the careless slip in tone.

"Oh!" He withdrew his hand from Crowley's hair and the demon had to suppress a whimper at the loss. "I- I didn't want- I just thought you'd be more comfortable that way."

Crowley sighed. He resisted the urge to bury his face further in the angel's warm neck and fought himself in a sitting position instead, looking down into questioning blue eyes.

"I know you mean well", Crowley said truthfully. "And I am. More comfortable. But...it's hard to explain, but I'm also not, y'know? Just...Maybe the sensible way is not always the one we want to take anyway."

Aziraphale's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"I just tried to adapt to your pace, dear", he said, following the demon and sitting up to be at eye-level with him. "And I truly don't mind, not at all. I'm happy to do that-"

"I know", Crowley interrupted him as gently as possible, aware that Aziraphale meant every word he said and grateful for it. And still... "It's not that. It's just not what I want it to be like, y'know", he tried to explain. "My pace. Your pace. I'd like to see if we can find a compromise." _(Make it ours. Heading towards a destination. Together.)_

"That..." Aziraphale trailed off, the cogs visibly turning behind his eyes as he contemplated his next words. Of course he only wanted the best for Crowley, and the last thing he wanted was for the demon to feel like he had to do anything faster that he was ready to for the angel's sake. He could wait. Crowley had waited six thousand years for him. He could wait too. He _would._ As long as it took. But the demon seemed so sure. And patronizing him certainly wouldn't do, either. Being careful mustn't slip into being overprotective, or even suffocating. In the end, it was Crowley's choice, right?

"That...sounds lovely", the angel finally said, nodding in agreement. "If you're sure."

"I am." Crowley reached for Aziraphale's hand without a second thought ( _yes, yes, yes,_ chanted his head) and squeezed it gratefully. For a second, he even contemplated pressing a kiss to it, but decided that one step at a time would have to suffice. "Trust me, angel. I'm fine."

"Alright." Aziraphale squeezed back. "I do trust you, Crowley. I trust you to know what's good for you. And I trust you to tell me as soon as that changes."

"Sure." The demon gave him a crooked smile and Aziraphale couldn't help but mirror it in return. "Same applies to you, obviously."

"Of course, darling"

"Come back here, then?" The demon nodded down at the sofa, already halfway about to lay down again himself and Aziraphale followed without hesitation this time, happy to find their former roles reversed, the angel cuddled into Crowley's side now, one arm casually splayed across his chest. Without thinking (or asking), he began to absently draw patterns on the thin black fabric and smiled into Crowley's shoulder when it earned him an appreciative hum.

"I love your chest", Aziraphale whispered, continuing their recent conversation. "All those nights I imagined running my hands over the skin just like this..." He was sure he could _hear_ the smile spreading across Crowley's face.

"Is it like you imagined?"

"Better, my dear. So much better." He dared to place a chaste little kiss on the shoulder that momentarily functioned as his pillow and marvelled at the quickening thumping he could feel where his hand was placed. "I had no idea how thrilling it would be to feel your heart beat under my palms. Knowing that it's my touch that affects you like this."

_Yes, angel. 'S all for you. It's you who keeps it beating._

"Oh, my wonderful darling. Promise me to take good care of that heart, will you?", Aziraphale said unexpectedly, a sudden tremor in his voice. "Don't you dare change anything about it. It's such a beautiful thing. Kind and caring and so loving. I never came across something comparable."

The angel's hand fisted in the fabric of Crowley's shirt, clinging to it, to _him_ , and the demon didn't know what to do, how to react to the sudden change in Aziraphale's tone, the growing emotion he could hear making its way out of him. So he just let it flow, let the angel talk, listened to the shaky whisper.

"I've been selfish though, I know. Indescribably selfish", Aziraphale pressed out, for it was still hard to get the words out, even as they demanded to be set free. At least being close to Crowley without actually having to look at him made it easier. "The things I said to protect myself..." _(to protect you)_ "...to keep you at a distance. I know I'm the one who hurt you the most, and I'm so sorry Crowley."

Aziraphale paused and Crowley, unable to think of anything else to do, slowly began to stroke through his hair, just like Aziraphale had done before. He had no time to appreciate the softness, though, because his attention was captured by a new stream of words escaping Aziraphale.

"But I was scared. Scared what they'd do to us if they found out...and then they did."

It was hardly the first time Aziraphale found himself sinking deep into the territory of guilt and shame. He had spent a considerable amount of time reflecting his own actions over the years, and really didn't like where his own sincerity led him.

Truth was, Aziraphale had stayed silent for so long out of cowardice. He liked to tell himself that he did it because he had no choice, because he wanted to protect Crowley from being destroyed if Hell ever found out, and it was part of his decision, yes, but...He would have lied if he said he didn't also do it for himself. He did it because he was afraid. Not of Crowley, never of Crowley. But of what Crowley was and what it would mean for them, for him. He was afraid of losing Crowley, but he was also afraid of losing himself. Crowley was a demon, and even though Aziraphale didn't actually care (he didn't, he really didn't. That, at least, was something to take pride in. What Crowley was didn't matter in the least as opposed to _who_ he was), but Heaven and Hell would. No one would understand, and if not even She did - it could mean his Fall. Aziraphale could not be unaware of that fact, and neither could he deny that he was incredibly scared of that possibility. He loved being an angel, he found his whole purpose in being an angel, and if proclaiming his love for a demon meant to lose that, he simply didn't know what to do. He was ashamed of himself for feeling that way, wished he could just not care, wondering if he was too selfish, if it meant that he just didn't love Crowley enough and the thought pained him more than he could say. So Aziraphale put it off, shoved the questions away in his head, wrapped up his love and locked it in his heart so he wouldn't have to think about any of this anymore, for the time being, at least. It wasn't a good deal, Aziraphale was well aware, leaving him with nothing left but the thing he wasn't willing to risk - his angelic nature. Hardly anything at all in comparison to the pleasure of requited love. Still, it was the best Aziraphale could do. Just wait. Wait until Crowley eventually made a first move (or didn't, and everything would stay the same). Perhaps he would be ready to pay the highest price for that love some day, but even if he were, would Crowley want to accept that price in return? What if he Fell and it was all for nothing, if Crowley refused his love, refused him, who else was there left? Crowley was the only one who would ever truly understand him, the only fellow immortal on earth, the only being who might possibly love him in return... 

And now Azirapahel knew he did. He didn't understand it, but there was no doubt in his mind. Crowley loved him, and that changed everything. The game was changed, the stakes had been raised, and suddenly, it wasn't between his own pain and a chance for love. It was between his own selfish fear and Crowley's happiness. The decision hadn't been a hard one to make.

"Now I'm not scared anymore", he declared, a new sense of determination echoing through the words Crowley had hardly ever heard in the angel's tone. "What they did to you, to _us_ , was far crueller than anything I could have imagined them capable of. But now I know. I know there's nothing they can do to change the way I feel about you. Nothing at all." He supported himself on one of his elbows, finally feeling the need to look in the demon's eyes as he spoke, _vowed_.   
"And I want them all to know, darling", he said, holding Crowley's widened gaze while he carefully traced a thumb over his cheekbone. "I want them to know that from now on, _I'll_ be the one to guard that heart of yours. Will you trust me with it, dearest? Can you?" Aziraphale looked at him questioningly, but didn't wait for an answer. (Perhaps he knew Crowley was in no state to give one. Perhaps he feared it wouldn't be the one he sought.) "I won't let anyone near it", he promised instead. "Nothing will harm you if I can help it."

"Angel..." Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat.

"Yes?" Aziraphale's brow furrowed in concern. "Is it too much?" _(Am I too much?)_ "I'm sorry, just tell me-"

"No." Crowley hurriedly shook his head, "'s fine. Just...don't stop", he whispered with a side-glance at the hand the angel was still cupping his cheek with. When his eyes met Aziraphale's again, he could watch them brighten in the most beautiful way possible.

 _You darling creature,_ he could read in the play of blues. _You must be starved for affection, aren't you?_

"Crowley", he said aloud and the way his voice wrapped around his name like it was something sacred nearly undid the demon. _"My_ Crowley...

Crowley felt a whimper leave his throat. Begging. Asking for something he didn't know how to put into words. (Luckily, Aziraphale had never needed any to understand.)

"My poor love", whispered his angel, fully aware how much it affected the demon. "I'm so sorry you had to wait such a long time for this. It's mostly my fault, I know that."

Crowley wanted to object, but his mouth wouldn't obey, he wanted to tell him that it was not, that it couldn't be, because Aziraphale was faultless, perfect, the only thing that had ever truly been _good_...   
(Not that he'd never been hurt. He _had_. Many times. In insufferable ways. But that was the price one paid for loving something this much. The things that had the power to hurt you were those you cared about the most. And he would forgive him again and again and again if it just meant he got to keep those kind eyes and gentle smile in his life.)

"But it's fine now", the angel's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "We can fix it. I'll gladly give you all the care and love you need. I have more than enough to give, dearest."

"Thank you." It had slipped before his tired brain knew what had happened.

"Oh, no no no." Aziraphale lifted the hand that had been resting on his face, but only to draw a finger over his lips instead, sealing them. "Don't. This is not an act of kindness, Crowley, okay? I'm doing it because I want to. I do it because you _deserve_ it. You deserve everything, my love, and more." He sighed as he let the finger glide down, absentmindedly followed the path of Crowley's jaw instead - the gentle smile didn't vanish. _"I_ should be grateful that you let me be the one to finally give it to you. I'm just sorry it took me so long."

"You always did, angel", Crowley blurted out before Aziraphale could stop him again. "You're my best friend. You've always been so gentle and kind to me."

Aziraphale pressed his lips together.

"Crowley...I-I really haven't." _And we both know it._ "I'm an angel. I was _made_ to love and never have I ever loved anyone or anything the way I love you", he said and Crowley wanted to chase the sadness out of his voice, wanted to scare it away so it would never dare to return. "One would really think I would have found ways to show you. God knows _you_ did." (Yes, She knew.)

"Angel..."

"Did you know how much I love your hands?", Aziraphale suddenly broke him off, and Crowley lost the thread.

"My...hands?"

"Yes..." The angel took both of Crowley's hands in his own, turned them over, studying them almost reverently, following the lines with his fingers.

"These are the hands that saved me from the Guillotine", he said with a smile, voice full of memory. "The hands that held the bag with my books when we came out of the church. The hands that steered the Bentley to bring me back home more times than I can count. The hands that paid the bill after treating me to whatever meal I wished for." Crowley had been following the angel's movements with his eyes, but when Aziraphale lifted his gaze from their still joined hands, the demon's was drawn along, pulled upwards as if attracted by a magnet.   
"I've wanted to take these hands in my own for centuries, Crowley", Aziraphale told him truthfully as soon as their eyes locked. "I tried not to stare at them whenever you lay them on the table over dinner. I tried to brush them with mine whenever you handed me a bottle of wine. These hands Crowley, these hands have been nothing but my comfort and my protection ever since we met. How could I do anything but love them?"

_(You were my comfort and my protection. How could I do anything but love you?)_

"Was no big deal", Crowley said, because he didn't know what else to say. (He was too busy not crying.) "Any of that."

"It was a big deal for me."

"Entirely selfish reasons, though", the demon assured weakly. "Couldn't let you be discorpotared. You're too...you."

"Too me?"

Aziraphale crooked an eyebrow at him in amusement.

"Yeah. " Crowley swallowed, demanded of his body and brain to get their shit together. "Too..." _Cute. Adorable. Angelic. Perfect_. "...fussy."

One lifted angelic eyebrow was joined by the second.

"Fussy."

"Yeah. Like, _really_ fussy." Good. Words were hard, but at least they had kinda gotten back in the flow. "Would've kept on moaning about all the paperwork until my ears bled. Had to protect myself, you see?"

"Sure." Aziraphale scrutinized him calmly, looking like someone that tried very hard not to smile. Not that it was of any consequence. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away. Of course he didn't believe a word the demon said, and Crowley knew it - and loved him just a bit more for pretending.

There was a strange moment of stillness, Crowley was lost in the look on Aziraphale's face (how good it felt to be able to just _look_ , without having to be afraid of getting caught staring), the smile that curled the corners of the angel's mouth and travelled up to show in the wrinkles next to his sparkling eyes. Their bodies did not age (at least not if they didn't want them to), but he liked to imagine those lines were a manifestation of decades of smiling, centuries of laughter, millennia of happiness. That he and Aziraphale had had enough good times to permanently mark their bodies, to serve as a constant reminder of their long shared existence. Yes, Crowley dared to believe now that the periods of time they had spent together were not only his happiest, but Aziraphale's too, and even claimed to be the source of a considerable amount of those smiles and laughs that were engraved in Aziraphale's face now. Ever since he had been graced with that genuine smile back in Eden, he had craved for those moments of pure joy to be because of him.

Mere hours ago, he had been sure to never see a gentle glance or kind word directed his way again, and yet here they were. Aziraphale smiled at him, because of him. Aziraphale looked happy. And it was all Crowley had ever wanted.

"I love you." 


	6. Fulfillment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, my dears. The final chapter. Finally. This is a bit of fun, a bit of hope, and a lot of fluff. I hope you enjoy it and as I like to quote: I hope I earned the privilege of your time!
> 
> Also, this is partly un-beta-ed as I didn't wanna wait until tomorrow to post it and my brain decided again that 1 am would be a good time to finish this. (Spoiler alert: With uni the next morning, it is not.) Anyway, thanks to my usual beta angels and sorry for being an impatient feedback-addict.
> 
> Thanks to the fabulous Lin-Manuel Miranda whose brilliant lyrics I borrowed throughout this entire thing so the fic insisted I'd feature him a bit in this last chapter.
> 
> Lyrics at the beginning are from Oceans (Where Feet May Fail) by Hillsong United  
> (Is it blasphemy to rip them out of context? Maybe. Probably. Anyway. I'm a theology student. Guess She won't mind.)

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

 _I will call upon your name, and_ _keep my eyes above the waves_

_When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace_

_For I am yours, and_ _you are mine_

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

"I love you."

It was out before he knew he could say it. He knew he'd _wanted_ to say it, he'd wanted to say it for the last couple of centuries, after all. He just never could. And now here it was. No planning, no preparing, no ceremonial - just plain old truth. And _Someone_ , it was liberating.

"I love you, angel", he said again, because he _could_. "I know they say demons can't love but please believe me-"

"Hush, love." Aziraphale silenced him by lifting Crowley's hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. (Crowley hadn't even been aware the angel had been holding them the whole time.) "I believe you. I know. I know _you_. Of course I believe you."

He'd known, deep down he'd known, yet the demon felt the breath leave his lungs in a sigh of relief.

"And..." The angel smiled a loving smile that seemed to drift into a smirk at the same time.   
"Well, I guess love doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints."   
(As to who was who, that may be a question to remain open for contemplation.)

"Wait." Crowley's head snapped up, startled. "You...you know that's a quote, right?"

Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh yes, obviously", he said, almost a bit offended that the demon doubted him, but too giddy with love and happiness to dwell on it. "That delightful Miranda boy is really quite remarkable. "

"You watched Hamilton?" Crowley's eyebrows shot up in honest surprise. (For one, that the angel had seen it at all. Secondly, and even more so, that the angel had apparently seen it _without him_.) _"You_ watched Hamilton?"

"Of course." Aziraphale smiled nonchalantly. "Not really historically accurate, but you know how much I enjoy musicals."

Crowley smirked. Oh yeah. This was teasing-material. And good one at that. This was familiar territory. This was his comfort zone. Teasing, he could do.

"Yeah. Like...Julie Andrews", he said therefore. "Sound of Music" (Aziraphale scrunched up his face) "Mary Poppins. My Fair Lady-"

"You _adore_ Mary Poppins", Aziraphale shot back (like the bastard he was), enjoying to see the carefree Crowley again, the one he'd tried to find since...things had happened.

Crowley gasped theatrically at the (correct) accusation.

"That's audacious and-"

"And true." (It was.)

"And _not the point"_ , Crowley finished, willfully ignoring the angel's comment. "The point is...what's the point again? Ah, yeah. The point is - Hamilton", he said, flavouring his tone with a hint of self-satisfaction (just for good measure). "The music in Hamilton is not really your cup of tea, angel."

To his surprise (and delight), Aziraphale just huffed at that.

"Just because I don't listen to _your_ bebop doesn't mean I can't enjoy something modern."

This bastard. This bitchy, adorable, _wonderful_ bastard.

Bebop.

 _Bebop_.

Fuck, Crowley loved him. And the best thing was, he could say so.

"Fuck, I love you."

And then he kissed him. It surprised Crowley probably even more than the angel (who breathed out an astounded huff against the demon's lips before melting into the touch), but he discovered in delight that he didn't mind at all. There was no panic bubbling up in his belly, no growing need to withdraw, nothing at all to cloud the sparks of happiness fluttering through his whole body. This was fine. Kissing was fine.

Because kissing was _new_. Kissing was what they should have done, not what they had been forced to do. Kissing had not been necessary, then. Kissing hadn't even been an _option_. Because kissing was not foremost about lust - (Not that it didn't serve to fuel a fire in angel and demon alike, mind you) - but it was about love. This was an expression of love and affection. This was everything he had ever imagined and nothing he ever imagined. This was what he'd wanted it to be and never dared to entertain the idea of.

This felt right. It felt _good_. And Crowley wanted more.

He released Aziraphale's lips, leaning back just enough to be able to look at him, still close enough that he could feel the warm air against his skin when the angel tried to catch his (unnecessary) breath. The bubbles in his stomach were back, those that had been his constant companion over centuries whenever Aziraphale was near him or they even touched actually-not-accidentally-at-all. Crowley could have laughed or wept out of pure joy and relief that the feeling was back, had replaced the dread that had been pooling within him after It had happened, like a hard cold stone that dragged him down and into the dark - away from the surface, away from the light, away from Aziraphale.

He'd feared it would stay like that, fear and panic engraved in his bones, written in his DNA like the reflex to blink or swallow. He should have known the angel would cure him. Aziraphale had always known how to chase the darkness away. Especially the darkness in Crowley.

The demon was sure his relief and gratitude must be written on his face, an open book for the angel to read (Aziraphale was so very good at reading, anyway, and not just books, for that matter), but he did neither care nor mind. _Let him see. Let him see what he does to me, what he does **for** me. Let him see how loved he is._

He wanted him to know. Aziraphale had told him so much, all those lovely impossible things had crept under Crowley's skin and into his heart to make a permanent residence there. He'd graced him with gentle touches even though he wasn't meant to be held and cared for like this, couldn't be, least of all by this heavenly creature. It felt like something sacrilegious. (Not that he cared about such bullshit, but Aziraphale did, so why was he doing this, stroking his hands over damned skin, telling him such lovely false things?) And Crowley wanted it never to end. He wanted to speak as well, to touch, to show Aziraphale that his attentions were appreciated as they should be, that he deserved to receive the same. (Even more. Everything.)

"Crowley." The gentle voice brought him back from his thoughts, back to soft eyes watching him, back to even softer fingers cupping his cheek. "Whatever it is you think you need to ask for", the angel breathed, because of course he already knew what Crowley couldn't put into words, "I assure you, you don't. It's already yours. It's all yours."

The demon closed his eyes for a second, released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, tried to crystallize one thought out of the huge pile of thing he wanted to ask for, wanted to do.

"I..." He grasped for something, unravelled the want in his mind. When he approved of the result, he opened his eyes and gestured towards the angel's shirt he was still wearing, eager to make his request known before the courage left him again.

"Can you maybe...take that off?"

Aziraphale looked surprised, but nodded. He leaned back and Crowley instantly missed the warmth of closeness, but didn't have time to dwell on it as he was captivated by the sight of inch after inch of angelic skin that was slowly revealed when Aziraphale opened the buttons. He watched as the angel let the fabric fall from his shoulders and turned away to drop it on the coffee table. (The shirt was perfectly folded when it hit the surface. His angel had standards.)

There was a smile on Aziraphale's face when he slowly turned back towards him, but it was a small one, shy almost, and his eyes didn't meet the demon's once he had settled back in his seat. They were fixed at his hands instead, fidgeting in his lap before he made move to curl his arms around his waist.

"W-Wait a moment." He reached for Aziraphale's hand, laced their fingers together, held him in place. "I want to look at you."

The angel opened his mouth, closed it again, but Crowley could read in his eyes what he had bitten back to say. _You already saw me._

"Didn't- Ngk." He cleared his throat, commanded his mind not to drift off into unwanted memories, succeeded. "Didn't get a proper chance, then", he explained to their joined hands in his lap, biting his lip. "I mean...tried not to. Just. Y'know. In case you...wouldn't want me to."

"Oh, you darling creature." Aziraphale squeezed the hand Crowley was holding, making the demon look back up. "Only you could still be concerned about my virtue in a situation like that, my love."

Crowley frowned.

"Don't have to rub it in my face like that."

Aziraphale just smiled at his rumbling and shifted slightly to his side, revealing...-

"That was me, wasn't it?" The sudden hardness in the demon's voice startled the angel.

"What?"

"I knew I hurt you." Crowley was hissing through clenched teeth. "I _knew_ it."

"What are you talking-" Aziraphale followed Crowley's gaze in confusion, let it travel down his own body up to his plush hips and-

"Oh." There were bruises marking the rosy skin, lines in various shades of violet and blue, suspiciously shaped like handprints.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." The sound of the demon's voice was much more painful than the bruises had been.

"No!" Aziraphale hurriedly covered Crowley's hand with his free one. "I know, darling. I didn't even feel it! I still don't. I didn't even know they were there", he assured truthfully." I promise. It's alright. I don't mind. Please.."

Crowley nodded, but his expression didn't change, eyes glued to the marks he knew his own hands had left on previously untouched, untainted skin.

"But I- I'm so sorry, angel. I should have controlled myself better, I- I should- I-"

"Shush." Aziraphale stroked over the back of his hand, hoping it would be soothing. "You have nothing to apologise for, my love."

"Can I- " Crowley's eyes flit up to the angel's for a second, quickly returning to the violet stains he couldn't quit looking at while wishing to never see them again. "Can I heal them?"

Aziraphale nodded slowly. "I'd like that." He could practically watch the demon relax and felt his own lungs release a relieved breath at the sight. "Especially if it would make you feel better."

They had enough signs engraved in their souls, enough to wake memories. They didn't need any more physical reminders.

"I... " The angel trailed off, almost swallowing what he wanted to say. Remembering that he didn't have to do that anymore, he felt a mischievous smile curl the corners of his mouth. "I just hope you won't object to...well, give me some new ones, that is", he said, watching in amusement how Crowley's eyes shot up. "Sometime in the future. Some I can keep."

He almost chuckled at the demon's shocked expression, eyes huge and a strangled sound escaping his open mouth.

"S-Sure", he croaked out then, swallowed. "I- Fuck. Yeah. Alright. Sure."

Aziraphale smiled to himself as he watched Crowley refocus on his hip, his outstretched hand with the long fingers that had played a significant role in more dreams than the angel cared to admit. They hovered over his skin now, only millimetres apart, yet not quite touching. There was a slight sting when the occult healing power flooded through his body, but he barely noticed, too captured in the sight of its source, the furrowed brow that relaxed as Crowley watched the bruising disappear, leaving behind a canvas as unblemished as if it had never been painted in the first place. And Aziraphale watched Crowley, fascinated how the demon's eyes began to leave the spot they had been focusing on, wandering over the expanse of his exposed chest.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful", he breathed out, because he needed to. "Damn gorgeous..."

There was no answer. No _Thank you, dear_ , no loving whisper of his name, not even a _You're too kind_ or anything equally lovely and humiliating. (If asked, Crowley would have violently denied that he secretly longed for those little praises, even the ones including his favourite four-letter word.) But there was nothing. He looked up to find Aziraphale smiling to himself, but his eyes were fixed on a point on the floor.

"I mean it, angel."

"I know you do, dear." Crowley didn't like the sound of his voice _at all._

"You know I would have liked any corporation you chose." There was an echo of _Just because it was you who chose it_ , and he saw the corner of Aziraphale's lips curling further. Just- It didn't look quite right. "But I admit I do like this one, 'specially", the demon went on, travelling down the arm closest to him with the tips of his fingers. "Fits you. It's so..."

"Soft?"

"Yeah. But that's a good thing", he heard himself say. He hadn't exactly meant to, but as the words left his mouth, he knew they were supposed to be spoken, to be _heard_. "You know that, right, angel?"

Aziraphale had never minded being soft. 

Angels were meant to be soldiers. They weren't built for freedom, they were built to follow. Aziraphale had wanted to make a distinction. He had intended his corporation to represent that, not built for speed or strength (not on the outside, at least), and in his mind that just naturally came with neither being built in a sensually tempting way. (Not like other people with their lithe limbs and long necks and swaying hips. Not that he would name names. He would certainly not name names.) His body was build for different sorts of pleasures. And he had never worried about it, believing that it would never come to be of any significance. But now, here they were.

Aziraphale liked his corporation the way it was. He knew Crowley liked _him._ (But that was no guarantee the demon would also like what he saw.)

"Is it?" He smiled that wrong smile again. Not sad, exactly. Just not happy either. And as far as Crowley was concerned, no smile had any place on the angel's face but a happy one.

"Totally. Actually, I think angels _should_ be soft", Crowley said truthfully. He grabbed the angel's hand when he reached the end of his arm, losing no time to entwine their fingers, urging Aziraphale to look at him. (He did.)

"Soft is kind and gentle and empathetic", Crowley continued, smiling over the surprise in the blue eyes that met his. "Soft is loving." He brought their hand to his lips, pressed a small kiss to the back of Aziraphale's without breaking the gaze. "Angels shouldn't be anything _but_ soft, if you ask me."

"That's..." Aziraphale paused, conflict written over his face, and Crowley waited, let his own words sink in, watched as they settled into the angel's mind, softening his features.

"Thank you, dearest", Aziraphale said then, and there it was. The happy smile. _Aziraphale's_ smile. His angel's smile. _His._

"Nah." Crowley smiled back, best as he knew how. "Thank _you_. For being soft, being yourself. And...being all mine."

"All yours."

Aziraphale leaned his forehead against the demon's, and Crowley closed his eyes, let himself _feel_. Yes, he thought to himself. This felt right. This felt easy. And for the first time since they'd returned from Hell, he let himself believe that all would be well.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

There are moments that words don't reach, feelings you can't express, suffering too terrible to name. It's hard to wrap our mind around those instants. Those moments when you're in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down, down where it's dark and quiet.

Drowning is easy. Forgetting is easy.

Remembering is harder. Healing is harder. Living is harder.

We tend to push away what we know we'll never be able to understand, push away what seems too hard to allow even in the intangible realm of thought. But what good does it bring? Wounds can't heal until you lay them out in the open, bring them out into the light of day and the touch of fresh air. However carefully placed a plaster had been bestowed to protect them, being held hidden in the dark would only make them fester.

The damage was done. It was done. The page had been written, the ink dried. Black stains on previously untouched parchment.

But there were ways of restoration. They could write new lines, paint pictures to cover up all those ugly crooked letters, soft paint-brush strokes that would make them vanish little by little, hiding beneath the colours of _good_ and _right_ and _true_.

_Let me be part of your narrative. Let's rewrite it as ours._

There had been so many chapters in their story already. This would be just another one, swallowed in the seas of pages until it became nothing but another insignificant drop in the ocean of their history.

Sometimes when you're feeling buried, you're actually just planted. You need to be grounded before something new and better can grow. Yes, they'd tried to bury them. But they hadn't known they were seeds.

It would take time. But that was, at it happened, one resource they had quite unlimited access to.

They would know how to use it wisely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who decided to stick with me and this story to the end, I appreciate every one of you so much!!


End file.
